


Larkspurs and Hyacinths

by zoldyckstripshow



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Food Sex, Ice Play, M/M, Rimming, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4927438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoldyckstripshow/pseuds/zoldyckstripshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t get tattooed drunk, come back in the morning and if you still want my name on your ass we’ll talk” prompt with Ging and Kite. Lots of other characters making cameos and getting inked in this tattoo parlor AU~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Black Wallet

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first chaptered fic I've written for HxH stuff??? It's pretty much a self-indulgent AU with my favorite trash dad ship, omfg. KilluGon will be present, but they're not the focus of this fic, by any means. 
> 
> Check the end notes for definitions and reference photos if any of the content is confusing. 
> 
> **Trigger warning:** this fic deals with pretty much everything that goes on in a tattoo parlor, and there are descriptions of piercings - needles, blood, sanitization, etc.

“Have you seen the transfer paper?”

“I thought there was some in the back room.”

“I’ll go check. We’re fucked if it’s not there, though.”

“What do you mean, _we_?”

Kite gave Spin a playful smile, returning to his sketch as she went off in search of more transfer paper. He was almost done with the shading on this phoenix’s tail feathers. The art was for a back piece, one of the more intricate designs he was working on this month, and it was eating up a lot of his time. He didn’t mind; he loved challenges and aviary anatomy was always difficult to get right. Hopefully, Shoot would be happy with the sketch, because it would be difficult to alter once completed.

“I found some.”

“Good. I’ll order more later tonight.”

He sat up straight and stretched, flexing his arms and fingers. Sitting hunched over like this for hours at a time left him stiff and sore. Twirling the pen in his hand absently, Kite surveyed the shop.

Spin was printing out her line art onto the transfer paper, preparing to start a new client. It was a cartoonish octopus sinking a ship with eyes. Her style fell into the new school category, with bright colors and overexaggerated features. She drew in a large clientele for that specialty.

Knov and Knuckle were attending a tattoo convention across the country, so they wouldn’t be back for a while, but their styles – Japanese and traditional, respectively – also attracted a lot of clients.

Kite’s own style was much more abstract, as he preferred pointillism, mandalas, and sometimes watercolor pieces. He was the head of the parlor, with the most experience and good business sense, but he was also their resident piercer – a testament to his versatility and skill. There were only a handful of people in the industry who could claim to be a true professional in both fields.

It was harrowing to balance such a wide variety, though, and he’d accepted a young apprentice to help pick up some slack on the piercing side of things.

But where was he?

“Killua?” He asked into the air, setting down his pen. A few moments passed before he heard shuffling from the sectioned-off piercing room.

“Sorry, I was anodizing some jewelry.”

“For fun?”

“…for fun.”

“Fine, just don’t use more than three pieces.”

“I won’t. Hey, Kite, can you do my ear? If you’re not busy.”

“Where?”

“A helix.”

“You just got a helix last week, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but I want another one. Maybe two. Can we do two? So it’s a triple?”

Kite sighed, resting his elbow on the table. “Let me see the one you have, first.”

“Oh, come on, you know I take care of it.”

“Let me see.”

Killua reluctantly approached, moving his fluffy white hair out of the way. They were often mistaken to be brothers or sometimes even as father and son because of their hair. Kite was always quite offended by the latter; there was less than a ten year difference between them, and he didn’t look _that_ old.

He leaned in to get a better look at Killua’s healing piercing. It was still a little swollen, and tiny bits of hardened lymph surrounded the jewelry, but there was no blood or redness to indicate any problems.

“How often are you cleaning it?”

“Twice a day.”

“Make it three times. You’ve got some crusties in the front, here. Maybe during lunch or something just swab it, it should be fine.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Sure.” Kite ruffled his hair. “Go pick out your jewelry.”

Killua beamed up at him and headed to the front of the shop obediently.

He didn’t mind piercing his apprentice, but at times, Killua was too eager, and overextended his body’s immune system. Kite suspected this triple helix would perhaps lend itself to some sort of healing obstacle and maybe then Killua would learn his limits, but he wouldn’t bet money on it. Killua was incredibly steadfast in his decisions and always found a way to circumvent complications.

As long as he took care of the piercings, Kite couldn’t find it in himself to say no.

Moving to the piercing room, he slipped some surgical gloves on and prepared the autoclave.

“I want these, on either side, so it looks like a cluster.” Killua returned with two small gems in his hands; white opals, to match his hair and the preexisting earring.

“Are you sure you don’t just want a cluster, to save your ear the trauma?” Kite smiled, taking the gems and setting them in a tray.

“Nah, ‘cause then I can change them to rings later, or something.” Killua hopped onto the chair and fished around in his pocket for some pins to hold his hair back.

“Okay.” He placed the titanium posts into the autoclave and set the timer. Rummaging through the cupboards for some saline, Kite said over his shoulder, “Which one will hurt the most?”

“The third one. My endorphins will have calmed down, by then, and the pain won’t be masked by adrenaline.”

“Good. And you know, because your first piercing is still very fresh, that both of these will hurt twice as much?”

“Really?”

“Hm, we’ll see.” Kite gave a teasing laugh as he started to clean Killua’s ear.

“I can never tell when you’re kidding or not.”

“Well, your ear is very tender right now, with increased blood concentration and soreness. Adding two new wounds to an already irritated area is about as smart as it sounds.” He tossed the used wipes in the trash, picking up the purple marking pen to place tentative dots on the cartilage as a guide.

“Will it cause problems?”

“Maybe.”

“I know you know the answer, so why don’t you just tell me?” Killua huffed in frustration.

“Because you have to learn for yourself. Me telling you something is a bad idea won’t stop you from doing it; you have to go through it, find out why it’s a bad idea, and then apply that knowledge to your future endeavors.”

“You’re such a dad.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

The timer _dinged_ , signaling the jewelry was clean and ready to go. Kite placed the posts on the tray and handed Killua a mirror for him to double-check the placement of the dots. With a nod of affirmation, Killua laid back on the chair, tilting his head to provide Kite access.

“You don’t have to count down or anything.”

“I will, anyway.” Kite grabbed a pair of disposable needles, leaning down to make extra sure the purple dots were in the right place on Killua’s ear. There should be enough room between them to accommodate swelling, jewelry changes, and cleaning, but they should be close enough to look like a unified set of piercings.

When he was satisfied with his examination, Kite removed a needle from its plastic bag, and prepared the jewelry posts.

“16ga is okay, right?” He confirmed offhandedly.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay. I’m going to count to three,” Kite angled the needle and he saw Killua wince as its sharp point grazed his skin. “One, two, three.” With a smooth motion, he pushed the needle through, hitting right through the center of the purple dot perfectly. Killua made a face but didn’t say anything. Kite inserted the jewelry a few seconds later, screwing the opal on tightly.

He repeated the steps for the second piercing, noticing Killua clench his fist this time, as the pain was sharper and more pronounced.

When Kite was finished, he cleaned off the drops of blood with another saline wipe, and handed the mirror back to Killua.

“It’s perfect! Fuck, and it’s really sore, like, throbbing,”

“Good luck. Be careful with them, and don’t complain if they’re hard to take care of.” Kite threw away his gloves and the rest of his tools.

“Yeah, yeah, _dad_.”

“Don’t.”

Killua stuck his tongue out and danced away, presumably to go over some inventory for a new shipment of jewelry. Kite allowed him autonomy on most days, offering corrections or advice when it seemed like he wasn’t sure what to do, but most of the time, he worked independently. Kite was thankful for this small grace; he didn’t like babying people.

He went to check up on Spin’s progress. She was still early in the stages of outlining, but everything looked good, the black lines thick and sharp and smooth. Her client was sitting like a champ, though the tattoo was on his ribcage and he must be in a great deal of pain.

“Do you know when Knuckle and Knov will be back? Their clients are seriously backlogged and I don’t want to answer any more phone calls about it.” She asked, not looking up from the needle.

Kite leaned against the doorway, watching. “The convention is only three days long, but they drove, and they were planning on staying in the city for a while to sightsee. I think it’s fair to say another two weeks.”

“Two weeks? Honestly, leaving us to run the shop shorthanded…” Spin’s lips twisted into a frown.

“Oh, it’s not that bad. We could hire a receptionist if it gets too stressful.”

“It’s already too stressful.”

“Maybe you’re just bad at managing stress.” Kite smiled warmly as he pulled his hair back into a loose ponytail. “I can handle the phones for a while, so you can focus more.”

“Fine, fine. Hey, we’re out of Neo-Gold and Neo-Brown.”

“Oh, because of the flaming nun you did last week?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll order more.”

It was nearing evening, and he sat back down to finish the phoenix. If he could have it done tonight then he’d have all day tomorrow to work on another piece and do some paperwork for the APP.

Kite was halfway through smudging some shadows when the front door opened, and a man with layers of grey clothing stumbled in. He was _clearly_ inebriated, his expression vacant and his shock of black hair strewn about under a dirty grey cap. Even from a distance, Kite could smell the alcohol, and he wrinkled his nose.

The man approached him with wide eyes. “Your hair is. So long.”

“…yes.”

“Did you cut it?”

“Did I cut it?”

“Yeah? Ever?”

“I have gotten haircuts before, yes.”

“Wow. What’s your name?”

“My name is Kite.” He said slowly.

“Kite. That’s pretty. You’re pretty.”

“Oh, thank you, ah…?”

“Ging. Ging Freecss.” The man slurred, setting his elbow on the table. Kite pulled his artwork away hastily. He didn’t want “drunk man vomited on my draft” as an excuse for not finishing.

“Okay, Ging, can I help you?”

“I want a. A.” Ging squinted his eyes, apparently in deep thought, and Kite waited patiently. “It’s, um, it’s a permanent sticker. A taboo?”

“A tattoo.”

“Yes! Yes. A tattoo. I want one. Of your name. Because it’s pretty. I want your ass on my name. You on my ass. No. Your _name_. On my _ass_.” Ging giggled, his chest heaving under a thick scarf that was much too warm for the weather.

“Ging, you’re very drunk, and I cannot tattoo anyone who is under the influence.”

“What? That’s stupid, you’re stupid.”

“Hm. Yes, well, we just met and you want my name on your ass, so everything is relative, right?” Kite’s lips twitched into an approximation of a smile.

“Whose relatives?”

“I’m sorry, Ging, but I can’t tattoo you.”

“Because I’m drunk.”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“But what if I. What if I wasn’t drunk.”

“Then it would be okay.”

“I could get your name on my ass?”

Kite raised his eyebrows. “You’re tenacious. If you come back in the morning and you still want my name on your ass, we’ll talk, how about that?”

Ging nodded solemnly but didn’t move.

“Hey, Kite, did we need to order some more 14ga barbells, because the inventory says –” Killua stopped abruptly when he saw the extra figure in the room.

Kite turned to him. “If we’re below a hundred, go ahead and order another thousand, to be safe.”

“Anatometal or Neometal?”

“Five hundred of each. Make sure they’re varying lengths.”

Killua nodded and disappeared again, his expression unreadable. Ging, however, looked as though he’d witnessed the first moon landing. He pointed.

“Match!” Was all he said. Kite rolled his eyes and stood up, setting his artwork on the chair.

“Yes, match. But not blood match.” He gently gripped Ging’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “Do you know your way home? Do you want me to call a cab?”

“A cab?”

“Yes, do you want to take a cab home?” Kite was enunciating as clearly as he knew how, but it obviously wasn’t enough, because Ging still seemed confused. “I can call you a cab to drive you home, Ging.”

“’Kay.” Ging hunkered down in Kite’s arms, and Kite almost dropped him as the man’s full weight dragged them to the ground.

“Can’t you stand?” Kite asked, grappling with his balance.

“Cab.” Ging sounded so very sure of himself; it was a shame he probably only understood 40% of what was going on.

“Killua, can you get a cab on the line?” Kite shook his head with exasperation. “Where do you live?”

“64th and Broadway.”

“That’s not far from here. Okay. Just – just sit, until the cab arrives, okay?”

“’Kay.”

Straightening up, Kite pushed his bangs out of his face and took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time someone had walked into their shop drunk, and it definitely wasn’t the first time he had to call a cab for someone, but it was the first time someone had fallen asleep on the floor. Ging’s eyes were shut and he was obviously down for the count.

“The cab should be here in a few minutes. Who is this guy, anyway? I thought he was a client.” Killua’s arms were crossed as he studied the scene.

“No, he’s not a client. He might be, if he sobers up. Said he wants my name on his ass.”

“Did he mean the word “Kite” or a literal kite?”

“You know, for all his eloquent explaining, that tiny detail was left unclear.”

It only took five minutes for the cab to arrive, and with the combined strength of Killua and Kite, they dumped Ging in the backseat, giving the driver vague directions. When the car pulled away, the smell of alcohol faded, and they returned inside.

“It wasn’t even that late. Who gets shitfaced like that on a Tuesday night?”

“Oh, damn.” Kite slapped a hand to his forehead as he stooped to pick up a black wallet. “He left his wallet.”

“Sweet, is there any cash in it?”

“Killua, please.” Opening the wallet, he found a driver’s license and some credit cards. “Ging Freecss. He’s… thirty-two.”

“So?”

“Hm? Oh, no reason.”

“That makes him older than you, right? You’re thirty?”

Kite shot Killua a nasty look. “I’m twenty-seven, and I _know_ you know that.”

“Do you think he’ll be back tomorrow?”

“He sort of has to be. We have his wallet.”

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

“Then we mail this to him or drop it off or something. For now, I’ll hang onto it.” Kite shooed Killua back into the stock room to wrap up inventory before he sat back down to finish his phoenix. Shoot was a friend and he knew it would be okay if “life happened” to the deadline, but why be late when it wasn’t absolutely necessary?

Kite stayed late that night, closing the shop alone once he finally completed the drawing to his satisfaction. The black wallet in his pocket was heavy as he walked home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Anodizing jewelry:** altering the texture of a piece of metal with electricity, to change its color  
>  **Helix piercing:** a piercing on the upper cartilage of the ear ([photo](http://www.piercingtime.com/images/214/cartilage-piercing-with-ball-rings.jpg))  
>  **Triple helix piercing:** three piercings in a row on the upper cartilage of the ear ([photo](http://static1.squarespace.com/static/54e52ea9e4b049914f06ef79/5550f1b5e4b0c91d4a90ae62/5554ba2be4b09be6e53bda71/1431616597013/))  
>  **Autoclave:** a machine used to sterilize equipment/jewelry at high temperatures  
>  **16ga:** the gauge/thickness of a piece of jewelry (standard sizes range from 00ga to 24ga)  
>  **Anatometal/Neometal:** high-quality body jewelry brands


	2. Urasawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some reference photos for what Kite's ears look like - [ right](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/bc/4e/31/bc4e31affd07d2b816fdcd15f58e5c5c.jpg) / [left](http://www.cuded.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/22-Ear-Piercings.jpg), and [this](http://www.piercingtime.com/images/333/attractive-small-silver-barbell-vertical-tragus-piercing.jpg) is a vertical surface tragus. [Here's](http://bodypiercingmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/Tongue-Web-Piercing.jpg) a tongue web piercing. For more definitions/clarifications on words in this chapter, check the end notes.

The room was aglow with sunlight tentatively peeking through the curtains, casting a pleasant yellow wash over his pillow. Kite blinked his eyes open. His entire body was relaxed, snuggled deep into the soft mattress and still heavy with sleep. 

He didn’t have anywhere to be for a few hours, so he just laid there, letting the thoughts roll over his consciousness. The world was awake and functioning outside his window with soft sounds of traffic and birds. Kite buried his face in his pillow, letting out a long sigh. Slow mornings were his favorite. They were a rare luxury.

As the minutes ticked by, his muscles started to wake up one by one, and soon he felt ready to move. Sitting up in bed, he moved the curtains aside, cheerful sunbeams illuminating the room. The view from his apartment wasn’t spectacular, with only a few other apartment buildings and a small park in sight, but it faced east and every morning he got some beautiful sunrises. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen this particular building.

His right ear throbbed with a dull pain. Kite sighed again, a frown tugging on his lips as he stood to go find a mirror.

The bathroom light was not nearly as welcoming in its cold, white brightness, but it provided a pretty objective reflection in the mirror. He pulled his hair out of the way to see what was wrong.

His vertical surface tragus was a little pink, and there was a pretty substantial buildup of crust around its entry and exit points. He vaguely remembered not tending to this one last night. He’d just been too tired. Kite tied his hair back and grabbed a jar of cotton balls.

Every morning, he took great care to clean his new piercings and make sure they were doing okay. He went through a lot of sea salt and hot water in this endeavor, but he’d never had an infected piercing, and there were virtually no scars or bumps anywhere, so he figured it was a fair trade. This piercing in particular, the vertical surface tragus, had been giving him some trouble, even though it was a few weeks old at this point. He would give it another month and then retire it if it didn’t settle down.

He filled a bowl with warm water and mixed in some sea salt. Some people recommended saline, and he liked it well enough, but something about sea salt was just more appealing to him. Maybe it was the all-natural allure. Soaking a cotton ball in the mixture, he rested it on his ear, moving it around to soak the troubled piercing and soften any lymph that had settled during the night.

A quick swab after that and he was done. His nostril piercing was pretty independent, and he made sure to run his toothbrush over the tongue web piercing as he brushed his teeth, to clean it. All the rest of his ear piercings could be washed off in the shower, since they were all at least three years old and well-established by now.

The clock read 9:57am. He didn’t have to be at work until noon, so that gave him ample time to cook breakfast and get ready. Kite stripped off his clothes and started the shower.

While the water heated up, he examined himself in the mirror. His body was naturally lean and lanky, with jutting hip bones and long arms. If he stood up straight he towered above most at 6’2”. A few tattoos were scattered across his chest: a watercolor fox running down his ribcage, a blooming sakura tree on his left pectoral, and some poetry from a novel below his collarbone. His back was free of art, so far, because he hadn’t yet decided what he wanted to devote the skin to. A few smaller pieces on his arms completed the picture.

He was still very much an unfinished canvas, but he had years to go before his skin started to sag, and he wanted to be one-hundred percent happy with anything he put on his body. It took time for him to find a design he liked and an artist he liked enough to do it.

The water was finally hot, and he stepped inside, taking his time going through the motions.

10:19.

His hair was soaking wet, and he whipped it up into the towel to begin the  _very_  long and arduous drying process.

By the time he had cooked and consumed breakfast (scrambled eggs, bacon, and some fresh fruit), his hair was damp enough to deal with, and he set about combing it as he watched some show on Netflix.

It always took at least twenty-five minutes for him to get all the tangles out, so when he was finally finished, he only had a few minutes left before he had to leave. Patting his hair down one last time to wick out as much moisture as possible, he found some pants and a muscle tee, making sure all the necessities were in his pockets. He only just remembered Ging’s wallet as he was walking out the door.

///

The shop was empty except for Spin, who was drawing furiously at their shared work desk.

“Emergency draft?” Kite asked, flicking on the lights and preparing to open.

“She wants to meet me at one-thirty and she  _just_  sent me her ideas,” Spin growled angrily. Kite nodded in understanding. It was exceptionally rude for a client to be so late with their contributions, but not at all uncommon. An unfortunate hazard of the workplace. “So what was with that drunk guy last night? Killua sort of filled me in, but I was busy when it went down.”

“Oh, some guy came in asking to get my name tattooed on his ass. I got him a cab home. That’s pretty much it. He left his wallet here, though, so I’m sure he’ll be back.”

“Was there any money in it?”

“ _Honestly_ , you and Killua both.” Kite rolled his eyes and settled down at the desk as well, looking forlornly at the pile of paperwork he needed to get through.

“APP stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“You should let Killua handle it. He wants to learn.”

“I would, but if anything gets messed up, we lose our membership for a year.”

Spin made a noise of agreement as she continued sketching. “I wonder why there’s no Association for Professional Tattooers. Tattoo Artists? The APTA?”

“Hm. You’re right, there should be. Botched tattoos are way harder to fix than botched piercings.”

They sat quietly for a while, with Spin occasionally making frustrated noises under her breath and Kite’s face screwed up in concentration as he listed things out – when was the last time the city inspected the premises, was his autoclave up to code, when was the last time he had it tested…

When the door opened again, it was close to one-thirty, and he expected to see Spin’s client or maybe Killua. Instead, it was a much more tidy-looking Ging. His hair had been washed and his clothes were more suited to the weather – simple dark wash jeans and a white tee – but his movements were slow and labored, indicating a pretty awful hangover. He squinted at Kite and Spin in the light.

“Did I… leave my wallet here, by chance?” Ging choked out. His voice was gravelly.

“You did.” Kite pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. “I’m surprised you remembered. You were pretty far gone last night.”

Ging scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened. Well, I know what happened, but I’m sorry it happened to you.”

“You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. I take it you got home okay?”

“Yeah. I fell asleep outside, though, until the mailman woke me up when he tripped over me.”

“At least you didn’t have your wallet for someone to steal.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s. I got lucky. Thank you.” Ging twiddled his thumbs for a moment, color tinting his cheeks. “I didn’t, uh, say anything that, maybe, was…?”

“Grossly inappropriate?” Kite finished for him.

“…yeah.”

“Not really. You only said I was pretty and that you wanted my name on your ass. You passed out after that.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean to say I was pretty?” Kite placed a palm to his chest, faking hurt.

“No, no, no, not that, I just –” Ging raised his hands in defense. “You’re very pretty, I just. Didn’t mean to be drunkenly hitting on you, that’s all. I’d rather be sober and hitting on you so at least I could remember it.”

Spin coughed in the background as a thick silence fell between them. Kite’s eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly as he tried to gauge whether Ging was joking or not.

“Do you make a habit of hitting on men after you fall asleep on the floor of their business?” He finally asked, searching for any telltale signs on Ging’s face to help him understand more.

“I don’t make a habit of anything, really. Except being reckless.”

“I got that vibe from you.” Kite watched as Ging’s posture lurched slightly, his equilibrium obviously still quite off-kilter. “Do you want some water?”

“No, it’s fine, I should go…” Ging swayed again and Kite stood to help.

“I’ll get you some water. Come on.” Letting Ging rest an arm on his shoulders, he led them into the break room, setting him down in a chair to fill a cup with water.

“You’re really too kind,” Ging muttered weakly, accepting the paper cup and taking a sip.

“I think this still falls into the realm of ‘basic humanity’.” Kite said, sitting across the small table and threading his fingers together under his chin.

“Maybe where you’re from.”

“Hm, that’s a little cynical.”

“Maybe.” Ging took another drink, staring at the wall blankly. “Did I really ask to put your name on my ass?”

Kite laughed. “Yes, you were quite adamant.”

“God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What’s your name again? I’m sorry, things are blurry.”

“I’m Kite.”

“Kite.” Ging repeated. “That’s nice.”

“Apparently.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Ging.”

“Much obliged.”

They shook hands, and Kite took note of Ging’s strong grip, firm and unwavering. His hands were also pleasantly smooth.  

“I don’t have any tattoos or anything, so I don’t know why I came here. I don’t remember.” Ging sunk down in his chair a little, looking down into his cup as if it would provide answers.

“There’s a bar down the street. The Lotus?”

“That’s not where I was drinking, though. I think I was at…” Ging’s eyebrows knitted together while he thought. “St. Mary’s?”

Kite blinked. “Really? That’s a ways away. You walked all the way here?”

“I guess so. I must’ve really wanted a tattoo. Thanks for not actually doing it.”

“Like I’d tattoo my name on some random guy’s ass. I have standards.”

“Hey, now.”

“I’m just saying.”

“– you seen Kite? I had a question about –” Killua’s voice stopped as he stepped into the break room, looking at them. “Why didn’t you tell me the boss was on a date, Spin?”

Ging’s face turned bright red, and he mumbled something unintelligible, hiding his face behind the cup.

“Ah, yes. Killua, this is Ging. Ging, this is my apprentice, Killua. You met last night.” Kite said tiredly.

“Yeah, I know. The guy who wanted your name on his ass. Hey, did you mean the name “Kite”, or an actual kite?”

“Both. Either. Neither?” Ging hesitated, gaze flicking between Killua and Kite.

Killua grinned wickedly and opened his mouth again, presumably to continue taunting Ging, but Kite cut him off. “Killua, go finish the inventory,”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you guys anything? Some drinks, mood music, maybe some condoms –”

“ _Go_.”

“Fine, fine.” Killua disappeared, the door shutting behind him. Kite sighed and pushed his bangs out of his face. He loved his apprentice dearly, but there were times when his callous attitude had no place for the situation.

“Cute kid.” Ging said gruffly, still a little pink.

“He’s not my kid.”

“Oh, really? You look so similar.”

“He’s nineteen. I would’ve been an eight-year-old father, if we were related like that.”

“I’ve heard it’s possible.”

“Please don’t elaborate on that.”

Ging offered him a lopsided smile. His teeth were straight and white. Despite the rest of his somewhat messy ensemble, he obviously took _some_ pride in his appearance. “So how long have you been tattooing?”

“A little over ten years. I started my apprenticeship when I was sixteen.”

“That’s pretty early.”

“I didn’t have much else to do.” Kite left out the more incriminating details of his upbringing – theft, homelessness, and a near-fatal accident that prompted him to dive into art. It had really saved his skin.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“You’re lucky you found yourself so early.”

“I’m not convinced people ever lose themselves. They just waste too much time searching.”

Ging conceded, finishing his cup of water. “Thank you. For the water, and for the favors.”

“It’s really not a problem. You weren’t any trouble at all.”

“Actually, I have another favor to ask you.”

“Oh?” Kite leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, waiting for Ging to continue.

Ging fiddled with the cup, finally setting it on the table and looking Kite right in the eyes. His amber irises were glowing with life. “Are you busy tonight?”

Kite’s stomach fluttered, and he resorted to surface banter to hide his surprise. “Are you asking me on a second date?”

“ _Second_  date?”

“Doesn’t this count as our first?”

Ging looked stumped. “I guess it could be. Not what I imagined, though.”

“You actually  _imagined_  something?”

“I did. Maybe dinner, a movie, a walk through the park, and then we go back to your place so you can tattoo your name on my ass.”

“I think you’ll have to wait until things get more serious for me to be comfortable with that, Ging.”

“Oh, you mean like the third date?”

“Yeah, that would be fine.” They shared a hearty laugh.

It’d been a long time since he could joke with someone so casually about things like this, without feeling pressured or like he was doing all the talking. This conversation was refreshing and balanced in ways he couldn’t articulate but definitely appreciated.

“I have appointments and drafting until around eight. After that, I’m free.”

“Okay. Should I pick you up here, or did you want to meet somewhere, or…?”

“Let’s meet somewhere. Unless you want my apprentice to make more snide remarks.”

Ging huffed and shook his head. “No, that’s fine. We’ll meet somewhere. How about… Urasawa? At nine?”

Kite felt his skin go cold and his heart skip a few beats. “Urasawa? Are you serious?”

“Don’t worry, I’m buying. You did keep my wallet safe, after all.” Ging stood, tossing the water cup in the trash and moving towards the door. “Just ask for Ging Freecss when you get there.”

“But will you even be able to get reservations –” Kite called after him, but he was gone.

Kite sat in stoned silence for a few minutes. A lot had just transpired, and he needed to absorb it all. The second-hand on the clock ticked quietly in the corner. He could hear the door jingle as Spin’s client came in, and they talked briefly about Spin’s tattoo design before their voices became muffled.

He finally left the break room and sat down at his work desk, staring at the paperwork in front of him.

“You okay? He just kinda left.” Killua slumped across from him, sucking lazily on a lollipop.

“He wants to take me to Urasawa.”

Killua made a noise of disbelief. “What? You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.”

“How is he even going to get in? There’s only room for ten guests in the whole restaurant, not to mention the bill is  _astronomical_  – what was it, like, $350 per kaiseki?”

“They serve twenty-course meals and the menu changes every day.” Kite replied dryly. “The average is around $1100 for two people, plus tax and tip.”

Killua bit down on his lollipop with a forceful _crunch_. “When is this happening?”

“Tonight at nine.”

“Holy  _fuck_ , if he thinks he can get a reservation last minute at this place, he must be important.”

Kite’s head was spinning a little as he picked up his pen. “I’m going to just finish this stuff for the APP, and then I have my second session on that black spider tattoo before I’m done for the day. I’ll figure this stuff out then.”

“For the really big beefy guy who looks like Wolverine?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, cool. Can I watch? The paperwork? I want to learn how to do it.”

“Fine, fine.”

The day flew by after that. It took another hour for Kite to get through the rest of the forms, with Killua asking questions every so often and making notes on a notepad for some of the more complicated things. Kite’s client showed up on time, and he finished shading the black spider on his back, earning $400 with a hefty tip. The man also mentioned owing him something, if, in the future, he found himself about to die or in need of some “help”. Kite wasn’t sure if the implications were legal or not, and he’d assumed the symbol was gang-related, but accepted the promise all the same. He wasn’t one to turn down favors from people who could snap his neck with their pinky fingers.

As the shop was winding down and Kite was gathering his things to go home, Killua raced up to him, holding up an article on his phone.

“So I looked up Ging Freecss, and I was right, he’s a big shot.”

Against his better judgment, Kite found himself curious. “What does he do?”

“He’s a senator.”

“…you’re joking.”

“I’m serious, look!  _Senators Ging Freecss and Pariston Hill Come to an Agreement_ , this was just published a few days ago.”

Kite couldn’t really manage anything beyond a quiet, “Hm.”

“You gotta lock this one in, Kite! Think of what we could do with that kind of money! We could get a bigger shop and a receptionist and I could become an actual piercer –”

“Killua, please.” Kite ran his fingers through his hair, thinking through the new information. He hadn’t expected someone so down-to-earth to hold such an important position. The money didn’t matter so much – they got by, and he had enough to pay his bills and treat Killua to free piercings, so that was enough – but it was still an interesting new development. “I’m going to go home. You can close the shop, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Make sure you get ready to mail that paperwork. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“It’s okay if you don’t, if you’re  _busy_.”

“ _Killua_.”

On the way back to his apartment, he stopped by the bank, depositing his earnings from the day. Most of it would go towards rent and food, but there would be a little left over for savings. Just in case.

The fresh smell of mangos and peaches welcomed him home. A small wallflower plugged into the wall released perfume throughout the day, and he could change scents whenever he got bored. This lighter smell was good for energizing him and motivating him to get out of bed or do chores.

He opened his wardrobe, not entirely sure what kind of attire was appropriate for a vastly overpriced sushi restaurant. He felt his ears self-consciously; would the piercings be a problem? Would the tattoos be a problem? He didn’t want to embarrass Ging or cause any disruptions during the meal, especially if the restaurant was on the more conservative side, which it very well might be. Musing, Kite eventually decided it wouldn’t be an issue, since Ging hadn’t included a caveat in his offer. He knew very well where Kite worked and obviously hadn’t cared.

Kite smiled a little. It was nice, to have someone be interested in  _all_  of him. Past flings and partners sometimes hesitated when taking him out or bringing him home to meet their parents. Even though most of his body modifications  _could_  be covered, they shouldn’t have to be. Hiding his nostril stud with a retainer was something he’d been asked to do countless times for no good reason. It made him deeply uncomfortable to, in effect, lie to people like that. So this was a nice change.

Picking out a black button-up with long sleeves, he changed shirts, combing his hair into a neat bun at the back of his head. It was safe – not too formal, not too casual – and comfortable, and, if he chose to think about it for too long, easy to remove.

As he hailed a taxi, he let his mind wander, considering all the ways his shirt  _could_  be removed by tanned fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sea salt soaks:** a common way of cleaning new or irritated piercings with sea salt and warm water  
>  **APP:** the Association of Professional Piercers; membership implies a higher degree of professionalism and cleanliness in the piercing industry  
>  **Urasawa:** is a real place! It's the second most expensive restaurant in the U.S., and dinners really _do_ cost $1000+  
>  **Kaiseki:** a traditional multi-course Japanese meal  
>  **Retainer:** a clear piece of jewelry intended to hide a piercing while keeping the piercing hole from closing up


	3. White Wine and Paperwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIN

Kite almost walked past the restaurant, it was so well hidden, tucked into a small alleyway off to the right of a strip mall. A small black sign reading _Urasawa_ caught his eye and he ascended the tiny staircase leading into what he assumed was the right building.

A small hostess greeted him, her smile bright and her uniform immaculate. As Killua had said, there was only room for a small bar and a few tables off to the back, probably enough space for ten people, eleven at the most. He saw the familiar grey hat and relief swelled in his stomach. Getting stood up at a place like this was _not_ on his bucket list.

“I’m here with Ging Freecss,” He told the hostess politely. She beamed, walking him inside and seating him next to his date.

“Yo.”

“Ah, hi, Ging.”

“What would you like to drink, sir?” A waitress held a small notepad, looking at him kindly.

“What kind of tea do you have?”

“Tonight’s special is Green Matcha, stirred by the chef himself, but we also have Tienechi Flower Tea, Gyokuro Tea and Yellow Tea.”

“I’ll take some Yellow Tea.” The waitress nodded and disappeared. She returned only moments later with an ancient cup, full of steaming tea. It was finely brewed and he felt the tension leaving his shoulders as he sipped.

“I hope you like it, that’s sixty dollars’ worth of tea.” Ging remarked, watching him with a lopsided smirk as Kite almost choked.

“What? Are you serious? I’m so sorry, I didn’t –”

“I’m just giving you a hard time. What do you take me for, some chump that invites men out for a nice meal while quibbling about the bill?”

“I don’t take you for anything. You said you’re not someone who has habits.”

“Oh, you paid attention.” Ging was dressed in the same outfit from earlier, but he was wearing a watch that betrayed his wealth and his facial hair was more neatly groomed. Kite felt a little overdressed. He reached up to take his bun out, but Ging held up a hand, stopping him.

“It looks nice. I can see your face.”

Kite smiled and took another sip, relaxing as he admired the atmosphere. It was decorated with bamboo and expensive paintings, the mood lighting just bright enough to see everything clearly. He could smell the sushi across the bar and soft music was playing in the background.

He turned to Ging curiously. “How did you get a reservation?”

“I’m friends with the owner. We went to college together.”

“Oh, I see. Where did you go?”

“University of Gorteau.”

“Political science, I’m guessing?”

Ging’s face grew tightlipped. He scratched his ear. “You found out, huh?”

“That you’re a senator? Yeah.”

“I try not to let it eat up too much of my life.”

“Why?”

Ging shifted in his seat, resting his elbows on the table. “I’d get bored.”

“Do you get bored easily?”

“I do. That’s probably why I’m so reckless.”

“Hm, that’s not good.”

“You make people bleed for a living.”

“Only when they ask me to.”

The waitress returned and served them their first course of sakizuke. It was exquisite, and Kite felt he wasn’t really prepared for this kind of culinary prowess on his tongue, but as the dishes came out and as he tasted each of them, he felt a heavy sort of satisfaction. They were all balanced, each enhancing the taste of the next but never interfering with the unique flavors, and when they reached the desserts, he was completely and pleasantly full.

Their conversation was light and joking the whole time. Ging introduced him to the chef, who offered Kite a special plate of Toro that melted in his mouth and left him with a craving for sake.

When the bill arrived, Kite looked away, not wanting to see the damage, lest he feel all kinds of guilty. Ging laughed and took care of it, leaving a hundred-and-fifty dollar tip.

The staff bowed them out, smiling brightly.

“Come back soon, Mr. Freecss!”

“See you soon, Senator!”

“Bye, Ging!”

Kite watched in amazement as the door shut behind them, its fine wood glowing under the lights. Ging was more social than he’d ever been, but it was in such a casual and shy way, he wasn’t sure how the man managed. He was obviously easily embarrassed, blushing a lot during their earlier encounters, yet he somehow commanded an air of power and confidence and rock-solid stability. Kite couldn’t quite understand how these conflicting ideas were all so equally present in him, and as they walked down the busy street, he found himself staring a little more than was necessary at the curves of Ging’s jaw and his sturdy frame.

“Do you want to go to a bar?”

Kite was startled out of his contemplations. “A bar?”

“Mm.”

“It’s a Wednesday night.”

“So?”

Kite shook his head, chuckling. “Okay. Fine.”

Ging changed directions, leading them across the street and down a few blocks to a plush-looking lounge. The bouncer took one look at him and ushered them inside. Kite’s bemused expression made Ging laugh. This was probably something he took advantage of daily, but to Kite, it was a brand new experience.

They sat down in a quiet booth towards the corner of the building, Ging ordering a Stoli Raspberry and Kite a glass of white wine. They poked fun at each others’ drinks for a moment before settling down, watching the people mill about.

“So why are you constantly visiting bars on weekdays?” Kite asked, swirling the wine in his glass.

“It’s not a normal thing. Last night, I had a rough day, so I was just blowing off some steam.” Ging shrugged lightly.

“And tonight?”

“I have a pretty date, why wouldn’t I want to show him off?”

“You’re a smooth talker for someone who got embarrassed when my apprentice made the same implication.”

Ging looked away, his cheeks slightly pink. “It’s different when other people say it.” He mumbled.

“Bullshit.”

“So what’s the deal with your piercings? I only saw the nose and a couple on your ear. What else do you have?” Ging changed the subject, but he did look genuinely interested, so Kite obliged.

“I have twenty-three.” Ging whistled. “Most of them are ear piercings.” He pushed his hair out of the way so Ging could see. “And then my nostril, tongue web, and navel.”

“Tongue web?”

Kite raised his tongue and the silver jewelry flashed. A look of mortification crossed Ging’s face.

“Didn’t that hurt?”

“Of course it did. They all hurt.”

“So why do you get them?”

“Because I like how they look.”

“So you’re not a masochist, then.”

“If I was, it wouldn’t be substantiated by piercings. They only hurt for a second. Then it’s just weeks of aftercare and making sure you don’t bang them on anything.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is.” Kite studied him carefully. “You said you didn’t have any, right?”

“No. Not that I’m against them, I just never saw any I wanted.”

“But I take it you haven’t looked for anything interesting.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Hm. Maybe I could show you a new one sometime.”

Ging tilted his chin up a little. “Oh? Do you have any ideas?”

“Some. Depends on your anatomy.”

“My anatomy?”

“Not everyone is suited to every piercing. Some things wouldn’t be safe or would never heal correctly. The piercer has to have good judgment and make an evaluation based on their client’s anatomy.”

“I’d love it if you evaluated my anatomy.”

Kite drew his fingers across his lips playfully. “On the second date? Isn’t that a little soon?”

“If you’re going to permanently engrave your name on my ass next time we go out, I think now is the appropriate time to make evaluations.”

“Next time? You’re already planning something?”

“I mean, if tonight ends on a good note, then yeah.”

“I’m _sure_ it will.” Kite purred.

There was an unspoken question in the air as they looked at each other, and Kite sat back in his seat, resolving to force Ging into making the first move. Watching him struggle between being cocky and being reserved was more entertaining than it should be. Ging seemed to realize what Kite was doing, and his lip jutted out in a pout.

“Are you going to make me say it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to…” Ging’s voice trailed off into something unintelligible, and Kite cupped a hand around his ear, leaning forward.

“What was that?”

“I said, do you want to take this somewhere else?”

“Oh? But we just got here.” Kite teased.

“But you just –” Ging looked flustered.

Kite snickered and finished the rest of his wine. “Come on, I’ll get us a cab.” He held out his hand. Ging hesitated, his eyes fixated on Kite’s long fingers, and he tentatively took hold of it, like he was afraid it might break. “You don’t mind, do you? If it’s dangerous, as a senator…”

“No, no one cares.” Ging sounded like he was reassuring himself more than anything, but Kite didn’t comment, and they headed outside.

The taxi driver didn’t spare them a second glance as they piled in the backseat. Kite gave him directions to his apartment, reveling in Ging’s look of surprise as he took the lead. Everyone pegged him as a timid and mild-mannered person, but he wasn’t really sure why, because there were plenty of occasions when he wasn’t. Hell, being a tattoo artist meant he was relatively headstrong by default; dealing with difficult customers and running a business meant he had to have some degree of obstinateness. Out of the two of them, he would bet money he was more forward than Ging, even if Ging did put on a flirty front.

He kept thinking about this as they entered his apartment, mangos and citrus wafting around them. Ging sniffed.

“Fruit?”

“Mm.”

“It’s nice. The apartment, and the smell.”

“Thanks.” Kite fiddled with the lights as Ging awkwardly made himself comfortable on the couch. “Would you like some wine?”

“Sure.”

“Red or white?”

“Surprise me.”

Kite reached for the bottle of red, pouring them each a substantial glass. He didn’t often drink, at home, but there was no such thing as unnecessary wine. He sat down next to Ging and offered him the glass. They sipped quietly for a moment.

“Can I see your ear piercings again?’ Ging asked offhandedly. Kite set down his glass, untying his hair and letting it pool on the couch cushions before tucking it behind his ears. Ging leaned closer, reaching out a hand to gently touch one of the gems. He tapped each one as he counted. The feather light touches made Kite shiver. “This doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No, they’re all healed.”

“Okay. Sorry, I should’ve asked.” Ging’s fingers traced Kite’s jaw, and turned his head a little to the side, so he could continue counting the other ear. “Twenty,” He whispered. “That’s a lot.”

“I suppose it is.” Kite murmured, eyes fixated on Ging’s lips, the view _excruciatingly_ detailed because their faces were so close together.

“Where were the other ones?”

“Nose, navel, and –” Kite stopped mid-sentence as he felt a hand brush over his stomach, finding the small bead of his piercing and rubbing it slowly. If Kite was ticklish, that would’ve been a disaster.

“And?”

“…tongue. Web.” He finished, feeling his body warm up. Ging’s gaze was heated, his amber eyes boring into Kite’s, and when their lips finally pressed together, it was with an impassioned inevitability. The kiss was deep and well-paced as they took their time testing the waters.

Ging’s tongue swept across his lips and he parted his mouth, smiling internally as he felt his piercing being played with. He ran his fingers through Ging’s messy hair, pulling the cap off and letting it fall to the floor, where their shoes and socks soon joined it.

Kite broke the kiss for a moment, swinging his leg over Ging’s torso and straddling him before threading his fingers back into the black hair and tugging softly. He trailed his lips down Ging’s now-exposed throat, pausing every so often to bite or suck. The small grumbles of appreciation egged him on and Kite continued downward to ravage his protruding collarbones. Ging busied himself with the buttons on Kite’s shirt, taking care not to damage them, for which Kite was grateful. He wasn’t swimming in money and this was one of his nicer shirts. Ging would probably buy him a new one, though, in that case; he was a little careless with his money and startlingly polite.

The thin black fabric swept over his shoulders and fluttered to the floor. Ging sucked in a breath as Kite’s torso came into view, toned muscles and slight frame rippling with his movements as he worked. Ging traced the tattoos on Kite’s chest with his fingers.

“You like nature,” He said quietly, probably not intending for that statement to lead to anything. Kite nodded against the crook of his neck.

“I do.”

Ging’s shirt was the next to be removed, his tan skin untouched by ink or metal, and Kite sighed with appreciation. A fresh canvas. A canvas for paintings or piercings or hickies or scratches – the possibilities were endless, with this kind of virgin skin. Ging’s muscles were much more defined than his own, and his build was stockier and more compact. A thin trail of black hair disappeared under the waistline of his jeans and Kite’s mouth watered. He _loved_ happy trails.

“Do you have…?” Ging started, his lips moving against Kite’s ear.

“Oh, yeah.” Kite reluctantly stood and disappeared into his room, retrieving condoms and lubricant from his bedside table. He checked his face in the mirror to make sure there was nothing out of place; no eyelashes on his cheeks, no food in his teeth, no smears on his face. When he was satisfied, he returned to the couch, setting the materials to the side.

“No, well yes, but, sorry, I meant papers?” Ging sat up straight, fishing around in his back pocket and producing a crumpled medical examination. Kite blinked.

“Actually, I do.” He sat back on his haunches for a second. “You’re the first person who’s ever brought that up with me.”

“Really? It’s kind of a habit, now.” Ging flushed, looking at the wall.

“I thought you didn’t get into habits.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Kite went back to his room, searching through a stack of papers in a file for the appropriate forms. The last time he’d gotten tested was two months ago, after his last sexual encounter, so he was up-to-date. He got tested regularly both because of his occupation (blood-borne diseases could be a huge health concern for a piercer) and because of common sense, but it was still a pleasant surprise to find someone who also thought about these things. 

Settling back onto Ging’s lap, he pondered the legitimacy of showing each other papers – it would be easy for people to lie about the last time they had intercourse, right?

“What are you thinking about?” Ging asked, briefly glancing at his test.

“Nothing, really.” Kite reattached his lips to Ging’s collarbone and ended the conversation. He could feel Ging’s hardness through their pants as he ground down slowly, relishing the tiny sounds his partner made. Strong hands pulled his hair to the side and the heat in his stomach spiked. Kite nipped at his shoulder with gratitude, hoping the message got across. It did. Another gentle tug on his hair made him hum with pleasure. 

He started unbuttoning Ging’s pants, eyebrows twitching with mirth as he realized Ging was going commando.

“A little unprofessional, don’t you think, Mr. Senator?” He knelt on the floor and pressed kisses down Ging’s hip bones, a hand reaching up to stroke his erection. Ging grit out something incomprehensible, his eyes hooded and pupils blown wide. Kite kept eye contact as he lapped his tongue across the head.

Ging tasted like musk and spices, a not altogether unpleasant combination, and Kite dragged his tongue up the shaft and pressed against the frenulum with a persistent force. Ging let out a low groan, hands still clutching Kite’s hair.

He wrapped his lips around the tip experimentally, trying to gauge how much he would be able to safely take in. Ging’s hips bucked upward a little. Kite acquiesced, dipping his head down and enveloping more of the length in his mouth, stopping around halfway to reassess. Any more and it would hit the back of his throat – which he didn’t mind, exactly, but figured he might as well save for a later encounter, as a sort of surprise. Gripping the base with his hand, he started up a leisurely rhythm, watching Ging’s face for any reactions or warnings.

A minute later, he changed his pace, speeding up and making shallower movements. He paused every so often to run his tongue under the head, paying special attention to the way Ging’s fists clenched when he took his time on this. Kite let out a content purr as Ging pulled his hair.

The pulling became a little more intentional, and Kite let the erection slide past his lips with an obscene _pop_ , looking up at Ging expectantly. His face and neck were tinted pink but he seemed otherwise okay, eyes narrowed slightly as he tugged Kite into a standing position. He made short work of Kite’s dark jeans, and they dropped to the floor with his boxer briefs.

He climbed back into Ging’s lap, taking control of a rather sloppy kiss. He heard the condom wrapper crinkling to the side and felt as Ging’s fingers worked behind him.

“Do you – do you want to do it – or should –” Ging said, his words muffled between their lips. 

“Go ahead.” Kite replied, taking Ging’s bottom lip in his teeth and kneading it lightly. The sound of the lube cap popping made his already exited erection jerk slightly against his stomach, and Kite smiled, lifting his hips up to give Ging better access. A pair of slicked fingers probed at his entrance.

Kite exhaled slowly as Ging scissored him open, taking his time and not going too deep. He wasn’t wound _too_ tightly, having practiced on his own a few days ago with some toys, but the caution was still appreciated. The third finger didn’t hurt at all and when Ging brushed his prostrate, his shoulder blades flexed and he found himself grinding down onto his partner’s hand to increase the pressure.

He gave a short nod when he felt ready, and Ging removed his fingers, slicking up the condom with extra lube. Kite waited for things to be angled right and when he felt the thick presence pressing against him, he lowered himself, sliding down and taking as much of Ging as he could – which, it turned out, was all of him.

They both let out guttural moans and Ging rested a hand on Kite’s hip, guiding him up before he slammed back down again, impaling himself on Ging’s sizable erection. Six inches? Maybe seven? Kite considered the possibilities in his head as he rode, moving his hips around occasionally as he tried to find the right spot.

Ging thrust up into him and it worked – heat flared in Kite’s abdomen and he gasped, hands gripping Ging’s shoulders tightly. The request was wordless but still obeyed. Ging thrust up again, hitting his prostate perfectly, and he started a punishing rhythm.

The sound of skin against skin was punctuated by their heavy breathing, and Kite felt a few beads of sweat forming on his chest. Ging wasn’t faring much better; his body was unbearably warm, slick with sweat and pre-cum from Kite’s dick, still pressed between their stomachs.

Kite leaned down to kiss his neck, murmuring encouragement as he moved. The seconds turned into minutes and he was blissfully content with the way things were going. At this rate, they might even get two rounds in.

“What are you smiling about?” Ging asked, looking up at him, expression unreadable.

“Nothing,” Kite grinned, shaking his bangs out of his face to see clearly. Ging huffed and stood in a fluid motion, holding Kite in his arms like he weighed nothing.

“Bullshit.”

Kite automatically wrapped his arms around Ging’s neck for support, a little scared he might fall, but the fear didn’t last long as his back was laid flat on the couch and Ging towered over him. His thumb brushed over the head of Kite’s erection, smearing the pre-cum around.

“Ah – I mean it, nothing, really –” Kite choked out, his entire body tingling with pleasure. He was beginning to find it difficult to speak or even think coherently. The look of seductive determination on Ging’s face didn’t help.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Ging’s hand, still slick with lube and body fluids, stroked him in time with the thrusts, and Kite’s lips parted as incoherent sounds started to tumble out. “That’s more like it.”

Kite writhed under Ging’s ministrations, his hands gripping at anything he could reach and leaving moon-shaped marks on tan skin. He vaguely hoped this kind of incriminating evidence wouldn’t hurt Ging’s career, but if it would, he hadn’t said anything, yet.

The minutes slid by like this, with thick groans and labored breathing. Kite’s hands were holding onto the side of the couch to keep him from sliding off. His hair was matted up in the back, white locks crushed against a decorative pillow and getting more tangled by the second. Ging leaned forward slightly, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch and forcing Kite’s legs apart a little further.

The warmth was building up and becoming unbearable, every touch sending shockwaves up his spine and making his skin tingle. He didn’t trust himself to last much longer, not like this, not when Ging knew exactly where to push and exactly how hard to jerk him and _exactly_ what kind of effect his shadowed amber eyes had –

“Your name is really – inconvenient – to – ah!” Kite didn’t get to finish his sentence as his back arched off the couch, cum spilling onto his stomach in thick white ropes. Every nerve in his body was singing with heat. It took a few seconds for the orgasm to pass, and he finally sucked in a deep breath of air, panting heavily.

Ging’s thrusts were getting more erratic, and Kite looked up at him through his eyelashes, face pink from the rush of endorphins. He licked his lips and dug his nails into Ging’s thighs, smiling wickedly as Ging’s tell became apparent – a sharp inhale and he stopped, buried as far in as he could go. Kite could feel the pulsing movements signaling Ging’s climax.

Ging pulled out, tying the condom and chucking it into the trash with a well-placed throw. He collapsed next to Kite, chest still heaving.

“I evaluated your anatomy, and I think you’d look good with a triple ladder piercing.” Kite announced, blowing his hair out of his face.

“A what?”

“Three barbells through your dick.”

The color vanished from Ging’s face. “What?”

“You have the right size and girth to do that set of piercings justice, and it would be really hot, not to mention practical –”

“Is that what you were smiling about? Thinking I’d look good with metal bars in my dick?”

“No, but it’s a great idea and you should look into it. I was smiling about _this_.” Kite rubbed up against him with an already half-hard cock.

“Now who’s planning ahead,” Ging said lowly into his ear, licking the lobe teasingly.

“What can I say, I’m very organized.” Kite squeezed Ging’s hip with his fingers as he initiated another deep kiss, preparing to fuck the night away with a very rich and very generous senator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sakizuke:** the first course in a kaiseki; usually a bite-sized appetizer  
>  **Toro:** a fatty part of tuna used in sushi


	4. Look-alike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically i want a ton of hxh characters to make cameos and that's probably where this is headed whoops??

He was gazing at the stars, a long, ghost-like hand outstretched to point at them and trace their patterns in the sky. Every movement left a dusty trail of asteroids in the cosmos. Crickets chirped in the distance, and a cool breeze rustled the trees surrounding his line of sight. One constellation in particular outshone its peers, a collection of tiny twinkling lights in a shape he couldn’t quite see, but it looked like some kind of animal –

A persistent buzzing from Kite’s left disrupted his subconscious. He cracked an eye open, vision blurry, and cringed as a small sun blinded him. It kept vibrating.

Kite groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling his comforter over his head. It felt too early – the light streaming through the curtains told him it was probably too late, but his body wasn’t ready to face the facts, just yet.

The buzzing stopped.

He let out a sigh of relief.

It started again only moments later.

Shifting movements came from beside him and he felt something warm brush up against his arm. He could hear some fumbling before the buzzing stopped again and a groggy, “Hello?”

Kite rolled over, flexing his fingers slowly. The thick fog of sleep delayed his movements. When he felt he’d regained complete control of his muscles, he stretched his legs and was suddenly made aware of the soreness in his ass. It was deep-seated and heavy, but not _excruciatingly_ painful. His skin slid under the sheets as he sat up.

Ging’s face was buried in a pillow, phone held up to his ear and an urgent-sounding voice coming from the speaker. Kite couldn’t see his face, but he sort of imagined it to be a picture of flippancy, exhaustion, and probably some kind of smugness. Ging seemed like the type to be smug after a good lay. His facial hair was uneven, shadowing down his neck a little, and Kite licked his lips thoughtfully. Did he have time? He stole a glance at the clock and almost had an aneurysm. It was nearly one in the afternoon.

Kite shot out of bed, cursing as he tripped over a messy pile of clothes, and rushed into the bathroom. The first thing he saw were the bruises; they were everywhere, coloring his neck and hips and even his chest, some shocking red and others a more cool-toned purple. Despite the carnage, there was a healthy glow in his cheeks, and it was glaringly obvious he’d had himself a good time the night prior. The droop of his tired eyes spoke volumes. Kite shoved a toothbrush in his mouth, fumbling with the shower handle as he brushed furiously. The tangles in his hair were unreal – how could it have gotten so bad after just a few hours?

Admittedly, their escapades had lasted well into the morning, with them finally collapsing in bed around four. Or was it five? He didn’t remember. Resolving to wash and detangle his hair when he had more time, he whipped his locks into a messy bun, stepping in the shower to scrub off the layers and layers of sex. Some of the more tender spots made him wince as he rubbed them, but he didn’t let up, intent on removing any traces of evidence from the surface of his skin. 

With a towel wrapped around his waist, Kite returned to his room, noting that Ging hadn’t moved in the slightest, face still glued to the pillow. His phone was lying innocently across the bed. He must’ve thrown it. The sheets had slipped down past his waist and were now barely covering anything at all. Kite felt heat rising in his cheeks as he paused to admire Ging’s – even more sculpted, now that they were in good lighting – body. His shoulders in particular, muscular and rather wide for his height, made Kite’s mouth a little dry.

He shifted his focus back to the task at hand. “Ging?” Kite reached out to shake his shoulder, but a hand batted him away.

“Too early.” Ging’s voice was muffled. Kite’s body agreed with him, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and run his fingers over that inviting expanse of skin, but that just wasn’t in the cards right now.  

Instead, he scoffed, gathering up some clothes and pulling them on as fast as he could. He made sure to select something with long sleeves and a turtleneck. “It’s almost one. That’s not early.”

“Nnnsss eeee sssssmm.”

“What?” Kite watched in fascination as Ging rolled over to his other side, sandwiching his head between two pillows, one of his legs dangling off the edge of the bed.

“Mprpghg. Nmnmr.”

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anything coherent out of Ging, Kite collected his things from the bedside table, getting ready to leave. “Ah, okay. I have to go to the shop, I’m late. Feel free to eat whatever, the kitchen is yours.”

“Mmrm?”

“Yeah. I’ll, uh, see you later, maybe, I don’t know.” Kite bolted out the door and started off to work at a jog. His stomach was beyond empty, and the remnants of a mild hangover made him wince as he ran, but those were things he could push aside for the time being.

///

When he finally arrived, sweaty and out of breath, he found Spin doodling some ideas in her notebook. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You… are you okay?” she asked, surveying his messy ensemble. He belatedly realized his shirt was on backwards and his jeans were unzipped.

“I’m fine.”

“You look terrible. Good night?”

“Thanks. I, well, yeah. Is everything okay?” Kite turned away to fix his pants, too harried to be embarrassed.

“What, you mean with the shop? Why wouldn’t it be okay? What could happen?”

“A lot could happen.”

“You don’t have enough faith in us.” Spin rolled her eyes, popping some bubble gum.  

“It’s not that. It’s my responsibility to be here and run things smoothly.” He thought for a second, trying to figure out how he could fix his shirt without stripping it off completely. It was a little too tight to suck his arms in through the sleeves, so –

“And it’s _our_ responsibility to make sure everything’s fine when you’re not here. Relax, will you? You’ve never taken a day off in your life, and the one time you actually _do_ go out and have fun, you show up looking like garbage the next day because you missed an hour of work.”

Kite rubbed his eyes. Maybe she had a point, but he was too tired to talk about this. He waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind. What did I miss?”

Spin blew another bubble as she counted a few things off on her fingers. “The big strong guy called, wanted to know if you could do more matching spider tattoos for his friends. I told him you’d check your schedule and get back to him. Shoot swung by, asked about the phoenix, I showed him your sketch and he loved it, so he wants to set up the outlining as soon as possible. And that drunk senator’s kid is in the back room with Killua.”

“Did Shoot want anything changed on his – wait, who? The who? With Killua?” Kite stumbled over his words as his brain caught up with what Spin had said. 

“Your date. Has a kid. And Killua’s with him in the piercing room.” Spin repeated, slower this time. "Might not want to go in there like that, though."

Did he look _that_ bad? He checked his reflection in the mirror. There were untamed flyaways sticking up in every direction, and the bags under his eyes were more purple than usual, but his skin was still bright and awake. Orgasms did a body good. Body, not mind, he reminded himself as he had to think through the news Spin had just delivered for the third time. 

"A. A kid."

"Yes. He's quite nice, very polite. Unlike his father."

"...you don't say."

Kite massaged his temples, still standing in the doorway. This was too much. Spin glanced at him apologetically but said nothing more, returning to her sketches. She was the master of staying out of drama. 

He wrung his hands, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure if this thing with Ging would last or just be some sort of one-time fling, but for whatever reason, he wanted to make a good impression on his son, and right now, he looked like a sewer mongrel.

...but then again, if this really was Ging's son, he must be used to raggedy men with messy hair, right?

Mind made up, Kite did some math in his head as he approached the piercing room. If Ging was thirty-two, then his son would be… nine, ten, eleven... twelve, at the oldest? Any older and Ging would’ve been a frightfully young father.

Twelve was way too young to be running around in a tattoo parlor, so maybe Ging had brought him in and they were in the piercing room with Killua together? But - no, that wasn't right, Ging was literally lying face down in Kite's bed, back at his apartment. So his twelve-year-old son was here alone. So – so he shouldn’t be getting pierced? Unless he had a mother, and his _mother_ was here? 

Tension welled in Kite’s stomach as he knocked on the door lightly. Killua’s voice called him in, and Kite swung the door open, bracing himself for whatever might lie ahead. 

Killua was hovering over the anodizer, changing a barbell from yellow to pink to purple to red, and sitting on the leather chair next to him was Ging, kicking his legs with a sort of youthful carelessness Kite certainly hadn't noticed during their time spent together but could have been hidden under the fake, sleazy suave attitude the senator liked to present.

A few seconds passed, wherein Kite considered the possiblity of space travel or perhaps time travel, because to his tired eyes, it seemed an indisputable fact that Ging was here, in the room - but of course, as Kite's consciousness snapped to attention, he realized that Ging was probably  _not_ bending the space time continuum to his will, and this must be a doppelgänger of some sort. Except, that wasn't quite right either. Whoever this was, his features were a little softer and way more clean cut – no facial hair, thinly arched brows, and a groomed hairstyle that stuck up in a very artistic way. His eyes were identical to Ging's, though, blazing with the same reckless fire, and the skin tones were almost an exact match. What didn’t match up was this person’s age; he looked to be about nineteen or twenty, like Killua, but how was that possible?

Kite let out a horrified gasp as he remembered something Ging had said: eight-year-old fathers were “within the realm of possibility”. Did that mean…?

“Hey, Kite. What’s up? Did you have fun last night? Your shirt's on backwards." Killua commented. He’d finally turned the barbell a shade of green, and retrieved it from the machine."Woah, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

“What?” Kite said dumbly, still fixated on this Ging look-alike.

"Didn't get much sleep, huh? I guess you did have fun. For once.” 

Kite blinked slowly, trying to find his speech. “I – are you Ging’s son?”

The boy – man…? – looked over at him. He was visibly uncomfortable, probably because of the sexual implications of Killua’s earlier question.

“Yeah. Sort of. I’m Gon!” His voice was higher in register and lacked Ging's trademark lilt. If Kite had to assign a specific adjective to it, he'd call it chipper. 

“I'm... Kite..." he replied automatically. How was it possible to be _sort of_ someone's son? 

“It's nice to meet you, Kite. Oh, I like that.” Gon gestured to the barbell. It matched a green streak in his hair almost perfectly. 

“Killua, you’re not piercing him, are you?” Kite asked, mentally prioritizing the information he needed to acquire within the next few minutes.

“No, we're just doing a jewelry change.” Killua ushered Kite over to show him, and Gon turned his head, revealing a silver industrial bar in his right ear. “This is the one he was pierced with, so now it’s a little long and a little boring. We’re changing it to green with gemstone ends.”

Kite nodded. “So, _Gon_ , what brings you here?”

“Oh, I was looking for Ging since he wasn’t home, and I remembered him saying something about this tattoo parlor. But I guess he's not here.”

“No, he's. Um. Not." Kite said lamely. Killua coughed behind his hand, an ill-disguised laugh, and Gon just gave him a tight smile. As embarrassing as it was, at least he wasn't oblivious. Actually saying it out loud would've been worse. Kite continued on his hunt for facts. "And he’s… your father?”

“Yeah. Well, he’s really my uncle, but he kind of became my father after some stuff happened, so I just call him “dad” now.”

Killua’s gloved hands unscrewed the industrial and removed it, and he took the time to wipe down Gon's ear quickly before inserting the new barbell. Kite was still trying to process a few things. Gon’s explanation made a relieving amount of sense, and his stomach was settling back into homeostasis, but things were still kind of extreme for a Thursday afternoon.

“There, done.” Killua handed Gon a mirror.

“Wow! It looks so cool! Thanks, Killua!”

If Kite had been paying attention to anything other than the slowly-crumbling sense of order in his life, he would’ve noticed Killua blush and look away. But he wasn't, and he didn't. Kite just shook his head and left the room, slumping down to sit with Spin at their worktable.

“Do you want some water?” she asked, shuffling some papers aside so he had room for his elbows.

“I will in a minute. I need to think.”

“Yeah, you’re in pretty deep with this one. He’s a public figure of the government and now his kid is in our shop.”

“Please don’t.”

It took a few minutes for him to clear his head. Killua and Gon were still laughing in the piercing room, and through the ajar door, he could see them looking at something on their phones. When he finally regained his composure, he rose, moving to retrieve some water from the break room. 

“Hey, Kite," Killua called him in. "Gon wants a tattoo. Are you busy?”  

Kite chewed the inside of his cheek, picturing his schedule for the day in his mind. “Yes. You’ll have to make an appointment for next week."

“That’s fine! I can wait.” Gon grinned, and they went back to their phones, talking animatedly. 

“Great.” Kite disappeared into the break room and sat down again, sipping a cup of cold water slowly. His resolve for the day was already slipping. He didn’t feel quite ready to tattoo Ging’s son – that was on a whole new level of intimacy – but then, Gon was an adult, and could make his own decisions without needing the permission or even knowledge of his surrogate father. Right?

He could feel the brain cells in his head popping like Spin’s gum as he tried to focus.

Ten minutes later, the cup was long empty, his shirt was fixed, and his body was less tense. He returned to the main room, grabbing his phone out of his pocket.

“Ah – Uvogin, was it? Yes, this is Kite. I’d be happy to provide some matching pieces for your friends. Depending on the size, the price may fluctuate a little, but not much. You can stop in sometime tonight or tomorrow. Okay. See you then.” He dialed another number. “Shoot? Hey, so you liked the phoenix? Anything you want to change? Mm, okay, that’s easy. How long do you want to go for? Six hours? Okay, I can fit you in sometime later next week, I’m swamped with small stuff until then. Okay, talk you later.”

“You don’t really have time to do a bunch of spider tattoos, do you?” Spin asked.

“Not today, no.”

“But you’re going to make time, if they come in.”

“For that guy? Definitely.”

Killua poked his head out of the piercing room, looking at Kite with wide, hopeful eyes. That was the look that meant he wanted a favor. “And for Gon?” 

As much as Kite loved indulging his apprentice, he just simply didn't have the time. “I can _maybe_ get a sketch going for him, but I definitely can't polish it or ink it today.”

“Aw, Kite –”

“No, it’s okay! I understand. He’s busy. I’ll just wait until he’s free.” Gon sat down on the bench in the front room and reached for Kite’s tattoo portfolio. “Hey, Killua, come help me pick something out.”

With perhaps too much eagerness than was required, Killua joined him on the bench, and they started flipping through photos, pointing and adding quiet commentary. 

A peaceful hush fell over the shop, and Kite set about tailoring the phoenix to Shoot’s liking. There were just a few small things, like the shape of its eyes, opening the beak a tad more, and lengthening the claws. Tiny details that didn’t require any restructuring or starting over; a blessing during a hellish day. When the tingle of a cell phone rang out, disrupting the quiet, he glanced at the clock. An hour had passed already.

Gon answered the phone with a cheery, “Hello?" The person on the other line was yelling, and within seconds, the smile on Gon's face had faded, to be replaced with a mix of mortification and annoyance as he listened. "Oh, um – he’s not? Well, he skips out on stuff all the time, doesn’t he? _No_ , I don’t know where he is. Stop calling me, Pariston, you’re so creepy.” 

“What’s wrong?” Killua’s eyes shut as he yawned. Damn him. Kite could feel his own yawn coming, but he fought against it, clicking his teeth together and staring down at his drawing, to focus him. But it was... just... so... tempting... 

“Ging didn’t make it to some debate. His opponent wanted to know where he was.” Gon explained, tucking his phone back into his pocket. Kite gave in and let out a monstrous yawn, laying his head down on the desk. Maybe just a _quick_ nap. 

“His opponent? Isn’t it a little weird for his political opponent to be calling you?” Killua scoffed. 

“Yeah. He does it anyway, though.”

The implication clicked into his head, and Kite shot up again, scowling. “You can’t be serious. He’s still…?”

Of course, there was no _real_ reason to believe Ging was still sprawled across his bed, tan skin glowing in the sun, but Kite had a hunch.

“Still what?” Gon leaned forward.

“Nothing.” Kite hurriedly corrected himself. Had he actually spoken out loud? Damn it all. “Do you have any ideas yet, Gon?”

“Oh, no, I like everything in this book! I can’t decide.”

The sincerity with which Gon said it made Kite smile. What a sweet kid. “Well, did you want something custom, or something pre-drawn?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to copy anyone else’s stuff, but it’s all so cool…”

“There’s nothing wrong with using a pre-existing design. I won’t copy it exactly as you see it on someone else, because that's plagarism and art theft and all that, but if you find something you like, I can take elements from it and create something new and unique for you."

Gon raked a hand through his dark hair and made a frustrated noise. “Ah, that just makes it harder! I want something from all of these.”

“You could get one of everything! It would take a really long time and a lot of money, but that way you wouldn’t have to decide.” Killua offered.

Kite narrowed his eyes as he watched them laughing together. The puzzle pieces slid into place, and begrudgingly, he admitted that Killua probably just wanted Gon to come back to the shop and hang out more. Oh, God, what if they _both_ ended up dating a Freecss?

He groaned.

“Are you okay?” Spin nudged his shoulder.

“I'm just tired. Of everything.”

“We should get some food. You haven’t eaten, have you?”

“I love you, Spin. So much. Your ideas are wonderful.”

“You’re definitely tired. I’ll order a pizza.”

///

By closing time, Kite had tended to a few walk-ins, rescheduling them for later if their ideas were more complex and needed time to refine. The simpler ones – a rose, a standard mandala, a line of text – were easy to take care of. He’d also had the chance to perform a nape piercing, something Killua was very excited to watch. Gon had left after their meal, but not before exchanging phone numbers with Killua and promising to come back next week for his appointment with Kite. 

Kite bid his coworkers farewell and finished closing the shop. The streets were shadowed, at this time of night, with warm street lamps amplifying the darkness where their light didn’t reach. People waved at him cheerfully as they passed; he wondered if his harrowed appearance had anything to do with it. He probably looked much less threatening with his tattoos covered by a long-sleeved shirt and his piercings under the veil of his hair, pulled taut over his ears. It was still in a bun, and as he walked, he resigned himself to having to comb it when he got home. It would be incredibly time-consuming and none-too-pleasant.

The door to his apartment opened soundlessly, and he braced himself for whatever may lie ahead.

Which, it turned out, was not much.

The space was empty, with no indication anyone had been there except Kite. He checked the bedside table and the couch for a note, but there was nothing. A small pang of disappointment hit him. He waved it away impatiently; no use getting upset about anything, it was too late at night and he was too tired and things with Ging were too shallow.

Kite curled up on the couch and turned the TV on, comb in one hand and argon oil in the other, taking his time detangling the sweaty and dirty mane.

His efforts clocked in at a duration of forty-seven minutes.

Washing his hair in a lukewarm shower and some good facial cleansing had him feeling good as new. He took extra care to tend to his piercings, because they’d been bumped around a lot the night previously. Color rose to his cheeks as he remembered Ging yanking his hair on more than one occasion, tugging at the piercings in the process.

When he finally crawled into bed, he noticed the faint scent of musky earth lingering on the sheets, and his lips twitched into a smile as he dozed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also uncle ging makes so much more sense to me than his canon relationship with gon, like, he's just that weird lazy rich uncle who shows up sometimes with extravagent presents but then drinks too much and wrecks family gatherings? yeah lmao
> 
>  **Industrial piercing:** a long bar that travels through two points in the ear ([photo](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/20/a5/fa/20a5fadd74e8fe9cc830ad9d1fa5ca7d.jpg))  
>  **Nape piercing:** a surface piercing on the nape of the neck ([photo](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4a/6b/24/4a6b24fadc6376421c9cce70be2401da.jpg))


	5. Spider #13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which five members of the Phantom Troupe scare the shit out of Kite, and also turn him on a little bit. AKA I have sinned again and I'll see you all in hell ogh g my go d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's](http://oi61.tinypic.com/2rh48rt.jpg) a reference for how I picture their shop layout. They have individual rooms because I think it suits their personalities better (particularly Knuckle's more abrasive demeanor), it's easier to clean/keep track of materials, and it allows them to decorate their space however they want. I think Kite is a big proponent of privacy and respect, so I can imagine him investing some money for that kind of thing. His room is unique in that it has glass sliding doors to signifiy he's the boss + he has a little office off to the side for paperwork and other private matters. 
> 
> **Trigger warning:** _super_ light bloodplay is implied in this chapter.

The next morning, as his hazel eyes focused on the clock, he found himself awake at a much more reasonable time. It was around nine-thirty.

Kite allowed himself the luxury of a slow start. He cleaned his earrings, rinsed off in the shower and poured himself a bowl of cereal, sitting down on the couch to watch the sun move across the sky as it splintered shadows on his carpet. His hair was wavy today; sleeping on it wet had left curls and indents in strange places, giving him a very beachy, careless look. The texture was new and interesting, so he decided to leave it as it was.

With the extra time afforded to him, Kite took care of his laundry, a small twinge of regret in his stomach as he washed the bedsheets and pillowcase. He also tidied up around the apartment and dusted things off.

The walk to work was leisurely. He stopped to get a bagel on the way to the shop, and indulged in a box of donuts for his coworkers. No one ever said no to donuts.

He was the first one there this morning. Setting the donuts on the table in the break room, he brewed a pot of coffee, letting the familiar smell waft through the shop invitingly. He then began mentally preparing for another day of walk-ins and appointments. Fridays were usually the busiest. Though he officially didn’t work Saturdays or Sundays, he often found himself at the shop anyways, tending to friends’ requests or extra paperwork to maintain the business. This weekend, however, he fully intended to rest and rejuvenate, and maybe regain some semblance of homeostasis with regards to the new events in his life.

Frowning a little, he considered closing the shop entirely for the next two days. With Knuckle and Knov gone, it would leave Spin in charge of the whole parlor, since he and Killua both took those days off. _That_ was completely unfair. It would perhaps be inconvenient and their customers would take a hit, but it was probably safer, he decided.

Spin arrived a few minutes later. She looked tired, hair tucked under a hat and eyes downcast.

“Didn’t get much sleep?” Kite asked.

“Ugh. Your insomnia was contagious. Is that coffee?”

“Yeah, I just made a pot. There’s donuts, too.”

“You’re the best.” She disappeared, gait slow and lurching, in search of caffeine. Kite settled down at his desk and flipped through some unfinished drawings while he waited. Some of them would be abandoned entirely – the art process was cruel like that. Others would be worked into other pieces or improved upon by clients with better ideas.

He started sketching out a sphere for shading practice.

When Spin returned, there was a more energetic bounce in her step. “Your hair looks nice like that. What did you do to it?”

“I just slept on it wet.”

“Hm, I can’t do that, or the dye gets all over my pillowcase.”

“Really? Because of the size of the particles?”

“Yeah.”

Kite nodded, absently continuing his doodle. Training as a tattoo artist meant rigorous education about toxicity, blood borne pathogens and chemical reactions, so they were both well-versed in the chemistry of inks and dyes. Some of the more efficient methods of getting color to stick in skin or on hair were banned, because lab tests showed them to be cancerous or otherwise harmful. It was an unfortunate obstacle science had yet to overcome. Frequently, this means false-redheads have a hard time getting their hair color to stay put, because the chemicals aren’t as potent as they _could_ be. Spin complained about it a lot.

By the time his sphere was finished, Spin was preparing the transfer paper for a client and Killua had arrived, making a beeline for the break room to vacuum up the leftover donuts. He’d always been rather fond of sweets. Kite suspected any spending money Killua had went to feed his addiction.

The door chimed merrily and an enormous body-builder squeezed through, his shoulders grazing the doorframe. Kite sat back in his chair and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. This man, Uvogin, was humorous and not unpleasant to work with (despite Kite fearing for his life several times during their session), but he could still probably wrestle a tiger and come out victorious, so Kite erred on the side of politeness.

Trailing in his wake was a hodgepodge group of people: a girl with bubblegum pink hair, a rather small man dressed all in black, and a man in a tracksuit. There was a smoothness to their movements that was off-putting and calculated. Dancers, maybe? 

“Hi, welcome back in.” Kite said, standing to greet them.

“Yeah. You did such a good job with mine, I trust you to do theirs just as good.” Uvogin’s booming voice sent chills down Kite’s spine and he felt himself shrinking back a little. It was as much a threat as it was a compliment.

“Thank you, you’re too kind.” The dryness in his throat made his voice scratchy. They didn’t seem to notice.

Uvogin turned to the woman with pink hair. “The boss said he’d swing by later today. He’s busy right now. I’m gonna go meet up with Nobunaga. I’ll see you guys around."

"See you." The rest of them said in unison. They must spend a lot of time together to be so synchronized. 

"Send me pictures when they’re done.” Uvogin squeezed back out the door with a nonchalant wave. Kite relaxed his shoulders, but only a little, because he got the vibe the shortest man in black was somehow more dangerous.

He debated asking about “the boss”, but there was a stale apprehension in that particular word choice that silenced his curiosity. It could wait. Instead, he handed them the appropriate paperwork, and waited as they filled it out. After the routine ID check, he asked, “Are you all getting the same exact thing, or are we making changes…?”

The man in the tracksuit, with slicked back hair and a sturdy jaw, answered for the group. “Same design, different numbers and different placements.”

“I can take you one by one, then.” Kite gathered a few blank pieces of paper in preparation for sketches.

“Ladies first.” The man said. He sat down with his smaller friend and they started to flip through portfolios, speaking in rushed whispers. 

Kite looked to the woman and smiled at her warmly, directing her to his room. "I'm Kite. Happy to have you here."

"Machi. A pleasure." Machi sat herself down on the on the plush tattooing chair, blue eyes scanning the room while Kite shuffled through some paperwork.

When he found his copy of Uvogin's spider design, he held it up to show her, asking, “Where do you want it?”

“My shoulder blade.” Machi twisted a little so he could see as she gestured. She was wearing a lavender camisole, probably intentionally, for easier access.

“Do you have a size in mind?”

“No, not really. As long as you can read the number. Five, by the way. It’s five.”

“Okay. May I?” Kite tentatively reached for her skin. She nodded. He brushed the strap of her shirt out of the way and measured the area with his fingers, trying to picture what size would be most flattering. When he had a general idea, he fixed the strap and returned to his papers, copying Uvogin’s design as precisely as possible.

“Do you draw spiders a lot?” she asked, chin resting on her hand as she watched him.

“Spiders? Not really. My coworkers do more animal portraits than I do. You guys will be good practice.”

Machi made a noise of understanding. “Hmm. I’m guessing you don’t really enjoy this style of art, then.”

“It’s not that I don’t _enjoy_ it. It’s just not my specialty.”

“What is your specialty?”

“Abstract concepts. I like to focus on the technique more than the subject. Pointillism and water coloring are my favorite styles to follow.”

Their conversation continued like this, light and informal. Kite was beyond appreciative that she wasn’t terrifying; Uvogin had been perhaps the most frightening client of his life, his muscles tensing with a barely suppressible urge to enact violence whenever the needle hit a tender spot. Kite was walking on eggshells for that entire session. Machi was much more laid back, and he wondered what kind of gang had such a wide variety of personalities. Perhaps when he met “the boss” later today, he’d get the chance to ask.

When his outlining was done, he doubled checked the size on her shoulder and made sure everything was in order. The transfer paper was traced and ready soon after. 

“Stay still, please.” Kite slowly pressed the transfer paper onto her skin, taking care not to accidently jolt it or let it slip. It peeled off perfectly and the purple outline of a spider with twelve legs was left in its place. Kite handed her a mirror for confirmation.

“It looks good.”

“Okay, I’ll have you lay down on your stomach. Do you want any water or snacks before we begin?”

“No, thank you. Let's just get this over with."

Kite chuckled. "Not a fan of needles?"

"Does anyone _like_ getting maimed for the sake of art?" she said sarcastically. "How long will it take?”

“Probably around an hour and a half. Once the lineart is done, speeding through the black should be simple.” Kite fixed the chair into a prone position and set about preparing his tools. The autoclave would be getting a lot of use today.

“Do I need to take my shirt off?”

“No, just move the strap.” When she'd made herself comfortable, he started up his machine, the familiar _buzz_ filling the air around them. “Okay, I’m going to start. Let me know if you feel dizzy or like you need a break.”

Kite got lost in the artwork as soon as the needle hit skin. His hand flowed smoothly across her shoulder, etching bold outlines at a steady pace. A full cap of black ink sat by his side and he dipped back into it every few strokes. When the ink started to smear, he wiped away the excess, black pigment smearing over her shoulder messily. It probably looked awful to anyone who wasn't a tattoo artist. He admitted that learning to see the purple stencil under the ink splatters took time and practice. More importantly, it took patience; a single misplaced line could completely ruin an entire piece. Kite had done coverups on people with misspelled text that couldn't be fixed for exactly that reason.

The spider came into being one leg at a time. Its joints were detailed out carefully, to look organic as possible, and he paid special attention to the head, using lighter touches to keep the lines from bleeding. It took around twenty minutes for the outline to be completed to his satisfaction. Kite switched to a multi-needle machine for the internal shading. This was much easier, and he colored the skin quickly, going over it only twice to help reduce any unnecessary damage.

He could hear the two men outside his room. A quick glance revealed they were watching through the glass doors with wide eyes, the taller one in the tracksuit looking a little green. There wasn’t _that_ much blood, and Kite smiled at them, inviting them inside with a hand. They both hastily shook their heads “no”. He again questioned what kind of gang they were affiliated with if a little needlework shook their spines this much. It was comical, at least, and he felt safer with this turn of events. Maybe they volunteered at a daycare center. A community-service gang? 

The final portion was white highlighting in the number five. He picked out a new machine and dipped it into the white ink, taking care to clean off the black smears before he set needle to skin. If it turned out grey, he’d probably be dead tomorrow. 

Kite sat up and wiped his brow when it was finished. “You’re done,” he announced, setting his tools down. Machi sat up and stretched, rotating her shoulder a little. Kite handed her back the mirror.

“Nice, I like it.” There was the smallest hint of a smile on her lips. She wasn’t very talkative, so he surmised that was as good of a compliment as anyone would get from her.

“I’m glad.”

Kite patched it up with some anti-bacterial ointment and the appropriate dressings, explaining the aftercare as he went. Machi voiced her comprehension and the session was over. Her friends gathered around her, admiring the work on her back and talking amongst themselves. Kite took care of his tools and started the next round of autoclaving.

The next two tattoos passed in much the same way. The smaller man, Feitan, as he came to learn, originally wanted his on his thigh. His taller friend – Phinks – talked him out of it, radiating protective vibes while throwing a scowl in Kite’s direction. Kite wasn’t sure if his fluid sexuality was like a neon sign stamped on his forehead and if it somehow threatened Phinks (which seemed to be the case), but Feitan eventually requested the spider (#7) be put on his calf. Phinks’ spider (#10) was placed on his left pectoral.

Both men left the shop looking haggard and in pain (tattoos on muscular parts of the body are some of the worst to endure), but they were chipper, laughing as they went. Kite just shook his head bemusedly and tucked the money away in his pocket, to be dealt with at the end of the day.

“You survived?” Killua was slumped over the work desk, bags of body jewelry strewn about. A new shipment of gems had come in. He held two amethyst earrings between his fingers, playing with them idly.

Kite sighed. “I did. I almost got assaulted during the third session with Phinks, the blonde, but I think he cared more about his tattoo looking good than pulverizing me.”

“Pulverizing you? In that getup? He probably wouldn’t drink coffee in those clothes, too fucking expensive.”

“Sorry?”

“Are you even Gucci?”

“I guess not.” Kite sat down next to Killua and helped organize the jewelry. Spin was with another client, but it was getting to be dinner time and he was feeling hungry. “Should we order some food?”

Killua set down the gems and glanced at the clock. “Why don’t we go out, when Spin’s done?”

“I would, but they said their boss would be stopping by later tonight, so I have to be here.” 

“That sucks. Do you think their boss will be scary?”

“God, I hope not. I’ve had my fill of scary clients for one week.” Kite rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. 

A sly expression crossed Killua's face, and he leaned forward conspiratorially, to address Kite in private. “You never said how your date with Ging went.”

Kite smiled. “Oh, I assumed you figured it out. It went well.”

“ _How_ well?” 

“Several times, well.”

Killua slapped him on the back, grinning. “Score! Are you seeing him again?”

“I'm not sure, I haven’t heard from him since yesterday morning." Kite raised an eyebrow at his apprentice. "I could ask you the same thing, though. How’s Gon?”

Killua backed off, turning away from Kite to hide the aggressive shade of pink in his cheeks. “I – I don’t know. He’s coming by next week, right?”

“Mmm. He made an appointment for Tuesday, but he didn't say what he wanted. Did he ever pick out a design?”

“No, he said he’d wing it when he gets it done.”

Kite laughed. "That sounds like a Freecss." They sat in silence for a while, until they were finished sorting through the jewelry. “Okay, why don’t you and Spin go out and just bring me back something? You know what I like.”

“Are you sure? You want to be here alone with that gang running around?”

“I think we made their good side, so I’m probably safe. But if I die because I fucked up the tattoo or insulted some nameless mafia boss, then that’s how I go.” Kite deadpanned. It would make a good story for his coworkers, at least. 

“I’ll make sure to tell Ging he rocked your world.” Killua said.

“Please, give him my regards. Maybe he can get me a fancy gravesite.”

“Whose gravesite is going to be fancy?” Spin popped her gum, waving to her client as they limped out, bearing a colorful new piece on their foot.

“Kite’s, when that spider gang's boss murders him tonight.”

She shot him a stern look. “Kite, did you piss them off?”

Kite glanced up at the ceiling and made a long, drawn-out shrugging motion. “Not that we _know_ of...”

Killua snickered next to him, and Spin just shook her head. “Honestly, you two.”

“What? What did _I_ do? Kite’s _our_ boss, if he wants to go toe-to-toe with a gang leader, I say let him.” 

“Thank you for your support, Killua.”

“Sure. You'd definitely lose in a fist fight, though."

"You don't _know_ that -"

Killua cut him off before it could turn into a full-fledged argument. "Hey Spin, want to go grab something to eat? Kite’s under house arrest while he waits for his client.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

They shuffled around for a few more minutes, chatting, before leaving to get dinner. Kite watched them go forlornly. He wanted to spend time with them, and was in the mood to make jokes and tease Killua, maybe even prove that he could, in fact, hold his own in a fist fight, but there would be time for that next week. He resigned himself to finishing the jewelry inventory.

Kite started transporting the gems to the piercing room, giving the more unique ones a space on the display shelf. He liked to organize them by color and size, but Killua always complained about it, so maybe he’d try randomizing it this time.

Randomizing it looked _awful_.

Before he could start over, he heard the door chime, signaling the arrival of – who he assumed to be – the boss. His eyebrows knitted together as he returned to the main room, unsure of what to expect but knowing it would be something else.

He wasn’t disappointed.

The man, a few inches shorter than Kite, was something else, all right. He had messy black hair and a bandana tied around his head. That was the only real part of his outfit that screamed _gang_. His pants – leather; tight, _tight_ leather – and his black muscle shirt reminded Kite more of a male stripper than a gang leader, but he supposed he wasn’t one to judge. What he _could_ judge was the objective attractiveness of this person. He briefly considered turning to a life of crime and joining up with this spider troupe, just to be able to stare more openly.

“Hi, you must be…?”

“Chrollo.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Kite.”

They shook hands and despite the height difference, Kite felt incredibly small.

“Uvogin’s tattoo was really well done and he couldn’t recommend you enough.” Chrollo's voice was silky and seductive; Kite imagined that he could probably turn the most benign of topics into some sort of sensual euphemism. It was sort of sexy. The whole ensemble was sort of sexy. Kite had always liked leather.

“That’s very nice of him.”

The paperwork was done in a flurry and Chrollo (Chrollo Lucifer, as his license read) followed Kite into his room.

“I like your studio. It’s nicely decorated.”

“Mm, thank you. It required some trial and error. We went through many different phases.”

“Oh?”

“The 50s diner phase, the grungy biker gang phase, the dark dungeon phase. All the basics.”

“And you settled on sleek and modern.”

“Yes. At least for the main room and my room. Some of my coworkers have more eccentric tastes they explore in their own spaces.”

“You seem pretty eccentric, yourself. Your hair is beautiful.” Chrollo leaned in closer from his spot on the chair, reaching out a hand to brush Kite's hair behind his ear, to reveal his substantial collection of piercings. Kite instinctively jerked back, eyes wide, almost dropping the bottle of ink he'd been holding.

Chrollo looked wounded, in a sickly sweet and entirely sarcastic way. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“...no, you just caught me off guard.” That was a blatant lie. Kite was having heart palpitations.

“I won’t do it again. Promise.”

Something in the quirk of Chrollo's lips made Kite sincerely doubt that. He changed the subject hurriedly. “Where were you thinking, for your tattoo?” 

“My back. The whole thing.”

“You… want a back piece? A solid black spider?”

“Yes. With the number thirteen.”

Kite picked up a pen and twirled it in his hand, considering. There was absolutely no way he could finish that before closing. It would take at least two sessions, maybe three, for that big of an area. He could try to convince Chrollo to move the tattoo somewhere else or make it smaller, but he also didn’t want to invite any type of brawl in his studio, if that went over badly.

He studied the man in front of him, weighing his options. Chrollo didn't seem as violently volatile as Uvogin or Phinks, but he moved with a calculated languidity that was a little worrying, underneath the layers and layers of oozing sex appeal. Not that Kite minded the sex appeal, he was just having difficulty getting a good read on his client's actual personality. Kite abruptly turned his gaze to the wall when Chrollo made eye contact with him. The corners of Chrollo's lips twitched upward.

“Is there a problem?” he drawled. 

Resigning himself to honesty, Kite set down his pen, replying, “Ah, not really, but that’s an awful lot of black in a really big area. It would require a few sessions to finish.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I have time.” Chrollo fluttered his (incredibly thick?) eyelashes, and Kite found himself staring again.

“Fine. As long as you’re aware. Do you mind removing your shirt? I need to take some measurements.”

"I'd love to."

Kite cringed inwardly, hoping that what he was about to see wasn't what he expected - smooth, sculpted skin and evidence of a work-out schedule - but as Chrollo obliged and pulled his shirt off, Kite's mouth went dry, and he was left wallowing in some sort of emotional conflict between disappointment and elation. Despite his attempts to remain professional, Kite's eyes wandered, betraying his interest, and he could see Chrollo incline his chin a little. Kite started calculating size measurements hastily, jotting his notes down on a piece of paper.

“Okay, you can put your shirt back on. I’ll start sketching out your spider. Thirteen, you said?”

“Mm.” Chrollo made no move to dress himself. In his head, Kite acknowledged how blessed he was to have seen one of God's angels, but he didn't let these thoughts reflect on his face. 

Taking out the largest sketchpad he had and referencing Uvogin’s design for the third time that day, he sighed. It would probably be in his best interest to just make copies of this in various different sizes for when the rest of the gang inevitably stopped by. How many members were there? More than thirteen? More than twenty?

The long strokes of his pen on the paper were the only noise in the room for a few minutes. Chrollo wasn’t incredibly talkative, like Machi, but his presence was much heavier. Kite felt like a mouse as a cat watched it with a hungry curiosity: trapped, desperate, and more than a little feverish. His hands remained steady, though, and all his lines were perfect.

With the outline finished, Kite held up his draft, awaiting approval. Chrollo’s eyes sparkled.

“You have a knack for this.”

“Drawing?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good, since it’s my profession.”

He sketched out the transfer paper and applied the stencil, measuring the placement for symmetricity as he smoothed it over Chrollo's skin with deft hands. The flexing muscles of Chrollo’s back distracted him and lengthened the process by a few minutes. Chrollo didn’t seem to mind; in fact, it sort of looked like he was doing it on purpose, because every time Kite would nod to himself and start to move on, he would arch his back and Kite just _had_ to double-check that nothing was wrong.

When Chrollo laid down on his stomach, Kite breathed a sigh of relief, now that his client's abdominals were finally out of view. Maybe now he'd be able to concentrate. "Okay, I’m going to just get through the outline today, and maybe some shading.”

“Mm.”

The buzzing started up and Kite got to work. He tried _not_ to notice, as the needle hit the skin, how Chrollo’s shoulders tensed and his fingers twitched. It would be a normal reaction to pain, if not for the rumbling hum of contentment he was letting out, eyes shut and a smile on his face.

Kite was horrified when he realized _exactly_ what kind of person his client was.

It made sense, he guessed, that a gang leader wouldn’t be scared of pain but would instead seek it out, but this was sort of a unique condition that didn’t quite apply to many people in the criminal underground. At least, Kite didn’t think it did. He couldn’t say for sure. Maybe the mafia was rife with BDSM couples or groups, and every Friday night, instead of a fight club, they tortured each other with whips and chains.

There was probably some sort of activist group for that kind of thing. There always was.

Resolving to finish this as fast as possible to minimize his contact with this extremely attractive and extremely strange person, Kite poured all of his energy into the outlining, quickening his pace while maintaining the flow.

He was able to complete the outline and coloring in the legs and the head when the clock told him it was time to stop. There were only a few minutes before closing, and he some end-of-the-week matters to take care of. Phone calls, following up with people, small chores like that.

Kite sat back in his chair and turned the machine off.  

Chrollo rolled his neck, sitting up.

“Hey, hold on a second, I have to clean you up, you’ll drip blood everywhere.”

“Mm? Oh, sorry.”

Kite wiped his back off, dabbing some ointment on the fresh outline to protect it. He peeled a large sheet of saran wrap from its container and taped it over the piece.

“Take this off when you get home, no more than two hours from now, okay? You’ll suffocate the area and cause a buildup of plasma, otherwise.” Kite explained the aftercare routine, watching as Chrollo put his shirt back on.

“Am I allowed to bathe?”

“Not for a while. You can shower, but don’t use hot water and don’t let the water run over your back for too long. It can draw out the ink and you'll be left with a really faded outline. Just give it a brief scrub down to clear off any blood, that’s all it needs.”

“Cold showers can be nice.”

Kite chose not to comment. He stood, starting to lead them into the waiting room, calculating a price in his head. Maybe $350? $300 seemed more reasonable, given how fast he'd worked. Chrollo interrupted his thoughts.

“I was wondering, if you’re not busy, if you could pierce my tongue?”

Kite almost walked into the doorframe. He caught himself at the last second, turning to face Chrollo, who looked delighted.

“You want a tongue piercing?” Kite repeated dubiously. 

“If you don’t mind? I've been meaning to get one for a while, but I just...” Chrollo's eyes surveyed Kite's body, and he felt rather vulnerable under that heated gaze. "...never found the right piercer."

Kite swallowed. “I – of course not. Follow me.”

He hadn’t planned on touching any more of Chrollo’s anatomy than was absolutely necessary, but it was becoming scandalously unavoidable, at this point. Kite pulled on another pair of gloves and let his client pick out a barbell he liked. It was black titanium. Fitting, Kite thought, as he stuck it in the autoclave to sterilize it.

“Have you gotten a piercing before?” he asked off-handedly. 

“I have a PA.”

“Ah – then you. Know. How it works.” Kite bit his own tongue, squeezing his eyes shut. Of course he did. Of course he had a Prince Albert. Of course.

“I do.”

When the jewelry was ready to go, Kite set up his tray of tools, making sure everything was in order. “Okay, I’ll need you to stick your tongue out for the whole procedure. It’ll be dry and probably uncomfortable but please don’t move it under any circumstances. The needle could slip and cut you.”

“How sharp is it? The needle?” Chrollo was looking at the tools, completely transfixed by whatever he was imagining their purpose to be. 

“Sharp enough to slice through skin like butter. Similar to a scalpel.” 

Kite motioned with his hand and Chrollo acquiesced, parting his lips and letting his tongue stretch out. He carefully placed the purple dot, checking it from every angle to make sure it was centered properly. He handed Chrollo a mirror. Unable to speak, Chrollo simply smiled, eyes bright.

“Okay. I’m going to use a clamp to make sure the needle is steady and doesn’t damage any of the nerves. I’ll let you know when I’m about to pierce it.” Kite gingerly clamped down on Chrollo’s tongue with the forceps. When it was placed correctly, he exerted more power on the tongs, gripping the area more tightly. Chrollo shifted a little. His eyes were half-lidded.

Kite looked up at the ceiling, praying for the strength to get through this. He was literally about to indulge a full-on masochist by performing this piercing. Parts of him were _very_ interested and other parts were morally conflicted, unsure where the line between professional piercing and BDSM encounter was drawn. If he was being paid to cause someone pain for the purposes of sexual enjoyment, was that a form of prostitution? Could he claim he didn't know?

Pretty unlikely. It wasn't like Chrollo was being subtle. Kite took a deep breath to clear his head and readied the needle.

“I’m going to count to three." He gave the tongs another precautionary squeeze, steadfastly ignoring the small noise of appreciation that came from Chrollo's throat. Tongue piercings could be permanently debilitating if something went wrong; he had to be extra careful. It was all in the name of safety. Yes. Safety. That melodic groan wasn't quite as important as being safe. When he found himself squeezing the tongs again, though, Kite had to question whether he actually _believed_ that.

"Ready? One, two –” He pushed the needle through on _two_ , for no real reason other than to see Chrollo’s eyes fly open in surprise. They were a little watery. Kite inserted the jewelry and screwed the balls on, tightening them as much as possible. When he was finished, he set down his tools, double-checking one more time that everything was in order. There were only a few drops of blood and it looked okay. “You can put your tongue back in your mouth, now.”

“I’d rather put it in yours.” Chrollo’s voice was muffled and thick, all traces of silky seduction lost with the paralyzing pain of piercing through a muscle. Soon, the swelling would set in, beyond that, it would take a few days before he got used to talking with the physical barbell in his mouth. Kite knew that from experience. 

Kite had to commend him for his straight-forwardness, though. “I beg your pardon?”

Deep-set black eyes were suddenly close enough to see flecks of gold. Kite could’ve counted his eyelashes, at this distance. “I _know_ you heard me.” A cold hand was cupping Kite’s face and he leaned back a little, heart pounding.

“I really don’t –”

“Do you like metal in your mouth?”

“I –” Kite’s face heated up as he remembered Chrollo mentioning his PA, and the double-entendre was not lost on him. He couldn’t find it in himself to lie, though, and nodded mutely.

“Good.”

Chrollo tasted tangy, like copper, and Kite cringed inwardly as the barbell rubbed against his tongue. He knew how much damage this kind of roughhousing could cause and his professional instinct was to slap Chrollo across the face for being so reckless with a brand new oral piercing. His _less_ professional instinct was to let his knees buckle and swoon openly.

A hand tugged at his hair and he let out a sinful moan into Chrollo’s mouth. This wasn’t _really_ how he’d envisioned his death, but it was better than anything he could’ve hoped for.

They parted a few minutes later, saliva stringing between their lips from the sloppy kiss. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have you blow me here. Too many sharp objects lying around. Someone might get hurt.” Kite opened his mouth to protest the overly-confident implication, but found that the words didn’t come to him. Chrollo chuckled and bit Kite’s lip one last time before stepping away. He handed Kite a wad of cash. “When do you want me back?”

“Back?”

“For my tattoo.”

“The spider. Right. Ah,” Kite struggled to regain his focus. “I can pencil you in for, um, two weeks from now, same time.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” Chrollo swept out of the room, leaving the faint trace of his cologne in his wake, and Kite was left standing alone, completely shell shocked. His stomach flipped uncomfortably with unresolved tension. After a minute of processing, he cleaned up his work station, throwing away everything that couldn’t be sterilized and removing his gloves. His body still felt warm and crackling with energy.

Chrollo wasn’t someone he would ever date, but he _was_ aesthetically pleasing, and that was enough to justify a one-night-stand, right? Well, maybe to someone younger. Kite had experienced his fair share of loud, chaotically kinky nights, and they were fun and steamy and exciting and all that, but they lacked an emotional chemistry Kite was beginning to value. Even if Chrollo tried to pick up where they left off in two weeks, he found himself veering into the land of “uninterested”.

It was a nice kiss, though, all things considered.

His thoughts drifted back to Ging and the ease of their conversations. He sort of missed it, right now. If only he had a way to contact him. They hadn’t exchanged phone numbers or anything, which was a huge oversight, in Kite’s opinion.

Pondering his poor life choices and bad taste in men, Kite teetered into the waiting room, collapsing down at the table. He put his head in his hands tiredly. This had been a stressful day during an already stressful week. Had all of the stressors in the world gathered together for the annual “Stress Kite Out” conference?

Belatedly, he realized he still had no idea what kind of gang those people were part of, but his encounter with Chrollo had him thinking along the lines of criminal floggers.

Killua and Spin returned what seemed like moments later, carrying a bag of food.

“We brought you Chinese.”

“Hey, there’s blood on your lips, did he hit you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh my god, did he it _on_ you?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I don’t believe it. You’ve gotten more action the past few days than I have in _years_.”

“Don’t worry, Gon’s dropping by next week, you’ll get your chance.”

“Shut – shut up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Paperwork:** tattoo parlors and piercing studios require clients to sign paperwork beforehand to prove they are of-age and sober  
>  **Tattoo stencil:** most (90%+) tattoo artists use a stencil, [like this](http://www.tattoomachineequipment.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/electrum-tattoo-stencil-primer-example-2.jpg). The blue/purple ink stains the skin so it will last through the tattooing process and help guide the artist.  
>  **Aftercare:** the process of caring for a new tattoo. Most artists recommend a 2 week-long regimen, usually consisting of applying ointment, moisturizing, and washing it in the shower.  
>  **The clamp/forceps:** piercers sometimes use a clamp to increase their accuracy by holding the piercing site between metal tongs ([photo](http://www.monstersteel.com/images/PT-018-PRODUCT-001-1001.jpg))  
>  **Prince Albert/PA:** a type of male genital piercing (go find your own reference photo for this one omg)


	6. Flower Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite is _such_ a dad

Kite slept in the next morning. When he finally crawled out of bed, it was eleven, and his sluggish body thanked him profusely for the extra rest.

He proceeded with his “time-off” ritual, which included a hot bath, a face mask, and a deep conditioner. The comforting smell of argon oil filled his bathroom as he worked it through his hair. Deciding that today, of all days, was a good time to be covered in sparkles, Kite tossed a bath bomb into the tub, watching with bemused fascination as it changed colors and bubbled happily. He switched on some calming music and sunk into the tub with a sigh. The minty mask on his face gave off pleasant tingles while he soaked.

Half an hour later, when his skin was pruny and his hair was feeling revitalized, he drained the tub and rinsed off in a quick shower.

With his hair in a towel – silky and detangled, thanks to the argon oil – he went in search of some sweatpants to lounge around in. He ended up crawling into bed with only boxers and falling back asleep, hair soaking through the towel and into his bedsheets.

A ravenous hunger woke him at around two. Kite padded into his kitchen and fixed himself a hearty meal (Caesar salad, cold macaroni and Sun Chips). He curled up on the couch to watch some Netflix and waste the day away.

Sunday, he was a little more active, deciding to head outside for a jog. The weather was nice and the streets wouldn’t be too busy this early in the morning.

Grabbing a bottle of water and some headphones, he headed out, aiming to go at least three miles round trip. It wasn’t often that he forced himself to exercise; he was blessed with a fast metabolism, so the mirror rarely reminded him about these things, but to maintain his overall health, he tried to do something weekly. Yoga, tai chi, jogging, an elliptical, sit-ups, whatever he had access to. Jogging was one of his preferred activities. His long legs made ita breeze, and people usually moved out of the way because he was easy to spot.

Turning a corner, he almost bumped into someone with purple hair exiting a convenience store, and Kite stopped in his tracks to greet his friend. “Shoot, hey!”

Shoot grinned, a rare sight for his usually melancholy face. “Kite! Running on a Sunday? You try too hard.”

They almost hugged, but Kite gave a halfhearted gesture at his sweaty body, for Shoot’s sake. They bumped fists instead. “If I don’t get around to it on the weekends, I’d never exercise. But hey, I finished making the changes you wanted, so we can do the outline sometime this week.”

“Nice." Shoot shifted his weight, rebalancing his groceries while he thought. “Hm, I could do Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“Oh, shit, Tuesday won't work, I have an appointment with, ah, an...acquaintance?” 

“An acquaintance?” Shoot repeated. Without eyebrows, it was hard to make out his expression, but he seemed dubious. 

Kite tried to articulate the situation in simple terms. “He's... a friend? Future son-in-law by potential marriage? My future _adopted_ son? Awkward third-party observer –”

“Future adopted _son_?”

“It’s complicated." Kite said sheepishly. "Anyway, Wednesday works better for me. Maybe around six? We can order dinner and talk, too.”

“That'll work. I trust you can explain how, in the short time since we last talked, you gained a son.”

“...yeah. Like I said, it's complicated.”

"Sounds like it. Okay, I have to put this stuff away and run some more errands, I'll see you on Wednesday.”

“Fine. See you then.”

Kite started jogging again, a refreshed smile on his face. Shoot was always pleasantly nonjudgmental and never asked questions for any reason other than curiosity. He just wanted to understand things, and when he got his answer, he would nod and move on to another topic without ceremony. It was one of the things Kite loved about him.

Monday flew by, the only notable client being a small blonde girl (who was actually _much_ older than she appeared) getting a delicate wrist tattoo of a sapphire. The detail Kite put into the cut of the gem took a lot of concentration, and he added it to his portfolio when it was completed, since he was particularly proud of the piece.

Tuesday rolled around and Killua was on edge the entire morning. Every time someone walked in, his head would turn so fast his neck would pop, and Kite had to gently remind him to drink water so he wouldn’t be quite so thirsty.

When Gon finally did arrive, hair spiked up in the same fashion and skin a little bit tanner this week, Killua tripped over himself welcoming him in. Kite almost pitied him. Being young and flustered was not a sensation he missed at all, ever. He had learned composure after years of practice and he tried to never look back at earlier humiliations. They still haunted him at night sometimes, though.

Like that time he slept with a senator and ran to work with his shirt on backwards and pants undone the next day.

But  _that_ was a unique case.

Kite watched with bemusement as Killua and Gon chatted by the door. Gon didn’t seem to have any awareness of the subtext – nothing in his face or body language said he noticed Killua’s too-long stares or fumbling sentences. Kite wondered if he really _was_ oblivious, or just didn’t mind. Either outcome seemed plausible at this point.

When Killua made a strange choking noise that was probably supposed to be a laugh, Kite stepped in, taking the spotlight of Gon's attention away from his blushing apprentice. “Gon, nice to see you.”

“Hey Kite!”

“Have you decided on a design?”

“I think so.” Gon held up a small drawing of some sort of animal.

“Is that a bear?” Kite asked, leaning down to get a closer look.

“Sort of. I like foxes and I like bears, so I tried to make some sort of combination animal. A foxbear.”

Having recovered from his embarrassment, Killua peeked around Gon's shoulder to admire the drawing. “Wow, I didn’t expect you to actually, you know, try.” 

“I didn’t really have to try, it just sort of came to me,” Gon said.

Kite straightened up, picturing the finished product in his mind and which needles would be best to achieve it. “Do you know where you want it yet?”

“Yeah, my side.”

“On your ribcage? Are you sure? That’s an awfully painful spot for your first tattoo, and it's a high-movement area, so it'll take longer than normal to heal.” Kite warned. 

“I’m sure I can handle it!”

Not sure whether he should be impressed or dubious, Kite agreed. “Okay. I’ll get the stencil ready.”

Kite took the design and began tracing it onto the transfer paper, gently correcting some of the shading and anatomy of the animal as he worked. He could hear the boys’ laughter in the other room - Gon’s voice was loud and chipper and full of life, while Killua, in contrast, muttered under his breath a lot and made sarcastic comments that bordered on snide. Gon must not have been put off by it, because their conversations flowed freely, without pause. Kite wondered if Ging's son was made of literal sunshine. If that were the case, then Killua would have to take care not to get a sunburn, because he was incredibly sensitive to UV rays, and also rather skeptical when it came to reckless optimism. 

When everything was clean and ready to go, Kite stuck his head out the office door, interrupting their chatter to call Gon into his personal studio.

“I’ll have you take your shirt off and lay on your back, if you don’t mind.” In his peripheral vision, Kite could see Killua hovering around the glass doors, peering in through his thick blonde bangs. He reigned in a snort. That would have been unprofessional. 

“Can Killua come in and watch?” Gon suddenly asked, halfway through removing his shirt.

“Sure, if you like.”

Killua was inside in a flash, his eyes lingering just a little too long on the flexing muscles of Gon’s stomach. Kite hid his smile behind his hand.

He applied the stencil carefully, making sure it was lined up where Gon wanted it, and peeled off the transfer paper. He gave Gon the go-ahead to double-check the placement and started to pour out the ink. Gon gave him a cheeky thumbs-up, lying back on the table, and Kite started the machine.

“Is there anything I need to do?”

“Just stay still, try to breathe evenly, don't move around. If you feel like you need to stop or take a break for any reason, let me know. It shouldn’t take more than two hours. Probably an hour and a half.”

“Okay.”

Kite tentatively set the needle to Gon’s skin, waiting for him to jump or react. There was no response; Gon was just staring at the ceiling, eyes focused and breathing steady. Reassured, Kite started tracing the outline of the bear’s head, keeping the lines feathered and fur-like.

The resemblance between Gon and Ging was still so surprising, Kite thought. He wondered how the gene pool had blessed them both with such similar traits if they weren’t directly related. Their eyes were almost the same shape, and definitely the same color, a brightly burning amber that seemed self-illuminating, like it could glow in the darkness of a cave. Their skin and hair texture and face shape were all the same. Even their muscle structure was similar, although Kite felt a bit awkward comparing Ging’s abdominals to Gon’s, so he didn’t dwell on this for very long.

A gentle pang of longing hit Kite’s stomach. He was starting to miss Ging, though it had only been a week since they saw each other. How they were supposed to communicate was unclear – Ging was the only one who knew Kite’s contact information, where he worked, where he lived, etc. Kite had no way to get in touch with him except perhaps asking Gon. This, too, made him feel a little awkward, and he resolved to save that as a final resort, only to be called upon in case of emergency. But did pining count as an emergency?

Kite huffed, and Killua shot him a curious look. He was _not_ pining. He just... had an interest in seeing Ging again. A strong interest. 

Midway through, Gon was in obvious pain, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Kite had to commend him for sticking it out. Rib tattoos could break down even seasoned clients, and Gon was holding it together really well. Killua was monologuing off to the side, describing what went into the process of tattooing and how the art came about. It was probably meant to take Gon’s mind off the pain. Kite offered additional details or historical corrections whenever it was necessary, and it seemed to help Gon, who started asking questions and participating in the discussion.

As Kite had predicted, an hour and a half later, he flipped the machine off, stretching his fingers languidly. 

“There, you’re done.” 

“Really? Can I see?” Gon’s excited voice masked any discomfort he was feeling. Or perhaps he’d forgotten about the pain entirely; it was hard to tell, with this kid.

“Of course.” Kite held up a mirror.

Gon squealed with happiness. “It looks so cool! I love how you did the fur, and the eyes look so real, like they’re looking right at you…” He continued gushing compliments, to which Kite politely thanked him.

After payment was taken care of and Kite had explained the aftercare, Gon was free to go, and Killua followed him out so they could get lunch together. Kite watched them disappear down the street, walking just a _little_ too close together. He smiled fondly and crossed his fingers for them.

Shoot’s tattoo went well the next day; Kite managed to finish the entire outline for the piece, which was a feat, as it stretched from the tops of his shoulders to the small of his back. He made sure the lines were thick and could stand the test of time, once the rest of the colors were added. Big tattoos like this needed a strong structural foundation or they would blur into nothingness as the years passed. After the outline was done, they spent an hour just talking and eating and catching up. Kite had to explain in vigorous detail how his relationship with Ging was going, and how the subsequent relationship with Ging's half-son was going; Shoot, to his credit, only nodded sagely, saying something about the stars aligning for this sort of serendipitous occurence.

Kite bid Shoot goodbye, getting ready to close the shop. Spin was done for the day and collecting her unfinished artwork, hauling around scraps and scrolls of paper, and Killua was staring at his phone like it would give him the winning combination for the lottery. Kite guessed it was Gon-related and decided to have a bit of fun. 

“Are you more or less attracted to him, now that he has a bear tattooed on his side?”

Killua almost dropped his phone, looking at Kite with wide eyes. “Huh? What are you talking about? I’m not – he’s not –”

Kite laughed, sitting down next to his apprentice. “I was just curious. You seem quite infatuated with him.” He bumped their shoulders together amicably. As far as he knew, this was Killua’s first brush with romance, so he had to admit he was interested. And protective.

Definitely protective.

“I’m not _infatuated_.” Killua said indignantly. 

“You’re the textbook definition of infatuated.”

“What – I am _not_ – he’s just funny –”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t look at him with googly eyes and pucker your lips when he’s not paying attention.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I do _not_ look at him with googly eyes, and I do _not_ pucker my lips, you’re imagining things.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Kite feigned hurt. 

“I’m not calling you a fucking truther –”

“Don’t try to pull an ad hominem on me, it won’t work.”

 “We didn’t start an official debate and there was no affirmative constructive, I can ad hominem you all I want.”

“Actually, I _did_ put forth an affirmative constructive, which was that you’re infatuated with Gon and as a result –”

“You can’t call that a debate topic! That’s bullshit!”

“ _Hey_ , knock it off, you two." Spin cut in. She was halfway out the door, on her way home. "Killua, Kite’s right, you’re pretty obvious about this thing for Gon, so just chill and try to loosen up. Maybe he can give you some advice.” The door shut quietly behind her.

Killua sputtered in frustration, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I don't need advice. It’s _nothing_. Not a big deal.”

“That’s obviously not true.”

“Okay, _dad_.”

“Dads don’t usually poke holes in their sons with sharp needles for fun.”

“ _Whatever_.” Killua spat. 

This wasn’t a serious discussion, so Kite wasn’t fighting for a “win”, but he knew if he didn’t draw some of Killua’s confusion out of him, the poor kid would bottle it up and explode later. Killua had a nasty tendency to never speak about his feelings and it was often detrimental to his professionalism (not to mention his personal health). Though they weren’t related, Kite still felt a brotherly love for Killua, and tried his best to take care of him when Killua couldn’t do it himself. Getting him to open up and face his emotions was one of the ways Kite could help.

There was a short silence where Killua stared at the floor for a minute before he met Kite’s gaze. “It's... different and new and... well, I don’t really know _what_ it is.”

“I think you do.”

Killua’s lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “Okay, fine, maybe I do, but I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Do you _have_ to do something about it?” Kite asked.

 “I… kind of want to.” 

“Well, if you want to, and _only_ if you want to, and _only_ if you feel ready, you should be honest and tell him what you’re feeling. Gon seems like a very simple person and I don’t think he would catch on to anything subtle.”

Knocking his knees together, Killua shrunk in on himself a little. “…but I’m good at subtle. I’m not good at honesty.”

“I know. So this will probably be hard for you, and you should take your time with it. But in this case specifically, I think laying it out on the table in a really obvious way would be best.”

“How obvious?”

“Obnoxiously obvious.”

“Ugh, like writing a text message? An actual text about it?”

“Neon signs wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“Can you help me? This is so weird and I don’t know what to do.”

Kite chuckled. “You know I would do anything to be your anonymous advice column, but I think that crosses some unspoken boundary, this time. If it were anyone else, I would gladly help, but since he’s Ging’s son, I feel like that’s not a good idea.”

“So are you telling me not to go for it?” Killua deflated in his seat. 

“No, not at all. You know I support you in any endeavor.” Kite’s eyes softened, and he ruffled Killua’s hair. “I just don’t know how your relationship with Gon may affect my relationship with Ging, and vice versa, so it’s probably better if we just keep those things separate and let them develop on their own. If you want serious advice and wingmanship, maybe Spin can offer some more insight. She’s good at this kind of stuff.”

"You guys are such parents. 'Go ask your father, you can bond over this.' 'Sorry, son, ask your mother, she's good at this kind of stuff.'" 

"I guess that's an apt comparison. But I resent it all the same."

Killua sighed, resting his head on his hands. "Maybe you're right. Gon probably already finds it weird enough that you fucked his dad. Wouldn’t want the senator coming to your door to beat you for helping your son hook up with _his_ son.”

“...quite.”

///

The next morning, Kite had his hair piled on his head in a messy bun and was still wearing yesterday’s sweatpants. He rubbed his eyes lazily and stepped outside to get the mail. His foot tread on something crunchy, and when he looked down, he saw colorful paper and – flowers.

A bouquet of flowers.

Kite didn’t move, blinking rapidly to make sure his eyes didn’t deceive him. But there they were: a bundle of purple and blue flowers, wrapped in cellophane. He finally bent down to pick them up, inhaling slowly. They smelled fresh and beautiful. There was a note attached to the stems, and he opened it up, scanning its text.

_Kite –_

_If you’re not busy tomorrow night, I’d love it if you came to my dinner party._

_Call it our third date but with other people around._

_Semi-formal / 8pm / 314 S. Boar Ln. off 64 th and Broadway_

_– Ging_

His face heated up with delight and he reread it several times. The back of the note had “larkspurs and hyacinths” scrawled on it and circled, with the same color pen Ging had used. Was he intentionally drawing attention to the type of flower? Did it mean something?

Kite stood there for a few moments, nonplussed. He was never one for reading into things, preferring to take what was given to him at face value, but the hasty circles emphasized the flowers’ names, so he couldn’t help but wonder. Who could he ask about this?

Well, _that_ was obvious.

He waited until he was home from work that night to call.

“Hey, Knuckle, it’s me.”

“Kite! Hey, what’s up?”

“Just something quick, I don’t want to keep you from having fun. It’s about flowers.”

“Flowers? What are you calling me about flowers for? I can’t draw flowers.”

“I know. You’re a traditional tattooer, you can’t draw anything. But I’m talking about real flowers. Their meanings.”

“Their _meanings_? Kite, what do you take me for? Some kind of happy-go-lucky florist? I don’t know the first fucking thing about flower arrangement or theory or –”

“Just tell me what larkspurs and hyacinths mean.”

Knuckle’s tone perked up. “Oh, larkspurs and hyacinths are beautiful this time of season. Did you buy some at the store? For the shop? I think we need something more yellow, personally, but you’re the boss –”

“Knuckle, please.”

“Right. Well, larkspurs are pretty cheery, even though they’re purple – some people refer to them as “delphiniums” but “larkspurs” reflect the happiness motif better – I think specifically, they mean laughter or open-ness? And hyacinths are sort of… how do I explain this, they’re like, a calm sort of pleasant. A loveliness that isn’t obnoxious. A natural beauty.”

“Natural beauty?”

“Ah, I’m not doing it justice, but yeah, that’s the gist.”

“Okay, thanks. How was the convention?”

“It was great! We got some t-shirts and other merch stuff, books, info packets about art lessons, that kinda thing. We’re just touring the city now and having a good time.”

“Cool. We miss you at the shop and you have an _immense_ waitlist, but don’t rush it. Take your time, enjoy yourselves.”

“Yeah, we wish you guys were here too. Maybe next time.”

“Maybe next time. Okay, thanks again. See you.”

“Yeah, later.”

Kite tossed his phone away and found a vase for the flowers. He wasn’t quite sure he understood the meaning behind them or why Ging had chosen them specifically, but he supposed it didn’t matter too much. It was still an incredibly thoughtful gesture.

He placed the vase on his bedside table. The purple hues offered a nice addition to his room’s (admittedly lackluster) color scheme. Maybe he should start buying flowers for himself?

It would also be a good idea to pick out an outfit for tomorrow. He would probably have to get off work early and rush home to make it on time, so the less hassle he had to deal with, the better. Kite threw open his closet and started rummaging.

Too formal, too casual, this is what he wore on their second date, this one had a coffee stain on it somehow – he flashed back to his conversation with Spin about the color red. Would red be too much? He dug through drawers and tipped over neatly stacked shirts as he searched.

Finally finding it under a pile of vests, he pulled out the shirt in question, and held it up against his body in the mirror. Kite frowned. He tried it on, making sure it still fit and there were no signs of damage. It was the tiniest bit tight around his shoulders, since he’d bulked up a little since he last wore it, but not in an unflattering way.

Deciding that yes, red would be a good color for a party with people in government (because how else can you make an impression while tastefully covering your tattoos) he paired it with a silver tie and some black slacks.

Satisfied, he curled up in bed and dozed off. 

The next day, Kite spent an inordinate amount of time pestering Spin to help him with his hair. Whenever she had a free minute, they looked up photos online, and armed with hair ties and bobby pins, tried to recreate different styles for him.

Killua was glued to his phone, but he would offer an encouraging smile every so often. Clients walking in were also surprisingly supportive. They too would give pointers and some even had their own suggestions.

Towards the end of the day, Kite had finally settled on a complicated set of braids that was fancy enough to be special but not quite a "formal updo". They fixed the style in place and he took great care in keeping it safe on the way home.

Kite took a quick shower to freshen up. He lathered up his body and paid special attention to below-the-belt maintenance. You couldn't ever be _too_ prepared or _too_ well-shaven. The clothes he'd picked out were laying on his bed, and he was dressed in record time, spritzing on some cologne as a final touch. He double checked his reflection in the mirror. His stomach was tight with nerves and excitement, but the outfit and the hair gave him a huge confidence boost, and he reminded himself that Ging was obviously already interested in him, or he wouldn't be going at all.

Anxiety quelled, Kite jumped in a taxi, hoping on the drive over that Ging liked red. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://postimg.org/image/uy4im33wf/) is the shirt, and [this](http://pophaircuts.com/images/2014/08/Cute-Long-Hairstyles-for-Straight-Hair-Triple-Braid.jpg) is the hair.


	7. Melt With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haha sin to win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's](http://www.splendid-architecture.com/projects/kitzbuehel-mansion-tyrolia-austria/) a loose reference for the architecture of Ging's place.

When the taxi driver pulled up at a pair of open gates, Kite was a little perplexed.

“Are you sure this is right?” He asked, squinting out the window.

“This is the address, sir. Are you looking for Senator Freecss?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then this is his house. I drop people off for his house parties all the time.”

“House?” He’d expected an apartment complex or maybe a condo. There weren’t a lot of big properties in this area of town, because it was so congested with buildings. Paying the driver, he stepped out of the car, and started heading inside. Once he was a few feet past the gate, things came into perspective, and Kite let out a hum of understanding. This must be one of the few nature reserves left in the city.

The house was buried in a flurry of trees, so Kite couldn’t tell exactly how big it was, but its impressive architecture was in line with Ging’s frivolous spending. Wooden panels framed a set of French doors and wide windows illuminated the gathering inside. There looked to be around twenty people, at least in that room alone, and Kite knocked hesitantly on the front doors.

It took a minute, but Ging’s head popped out, and he greeted Kite with a wide smile.

“You made it!” His hair was incredibly tame, bordering on coiffed, and there was a ruddiness in his cheeks Kite guessed was from alcohol. It was only 8:15, though.

“I did. I have a weakness for government affairs on Friday nights.”

“Hey, I never said it was a work party, did I?”

“No, but I assumed.”

“Mm. You assumed right.” Ging’s eyes swept over Kite’s ensemble. “You look… really good. By the way. Red looks good on you.”

“And you actually fixed your hair! We’re all full of surprises today.”

Ging gave a good-natured laugh and beckoned him in. Kite was overcome with the pleasant smell of cinnamon and he took in the warm mood-lighting in the hall. A wide living room filled with people was off to the side, and he could see traces of a kitchen further down, with what looked like a catering crew.

“I’ll introduce you to some of my friends.”

“Do they – ah – do they know we’re,” Kite began, not sure how to vocalize his tentative concern.

“Do they know we slept together?” Ging finished for him as they entered the living room. “I’m a little fuzzy on the details, but I think senators are constantly monitored for fraud with wire taps and surveillance cameras, so probably.”

“Funny. I like the humor.”

“Cheadle, Geru, Piyon, this my friend, Kite.” Ging pulled him into a small circle of women.

There was a chorus of, “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, he’s gorgeous!” One of them cooed, stepping forward to stroke his tie. Kite blinked down at her.

“Thank you, Miss…?”

“Piyon! I’m Piyon.”

“Piyon.” Kite repeated, trying to back up politely. She followed him, hands still on his tie.

“For God’s sake.” One of the other women grabbed Piyon by the arm and pulled her away. “You’re so touchy when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!”

Ging inclined his head and Kite took the cue, both of them walking in another direction.

“Sorry, I think everyone’s already tipsy.”

“Didn’t the party just start a little while ago?”

“For us, the party starts as soon as we’re out of the town hall.”

Kite snorted, looking around at some of the other guests. There was a pretty wide variety of personalities. Some people were somber, sitting in corners or on couches, some were chatting animatedly and some looked like they were in the middle of a presidential debate. He wondered if Ging’s work life resembled this messy jumble at all.

The house itself was finely decorated, albeit minimalistic, with nice wall sconces and modern furniture. There weren’t any paintings on the walls, but instead creative wallpaper and wood paneling offered just enough visual interest to keep it from being drab. Kite suspected Ging hadn’t changed anything when he bought the house. Maybe he’d even hired an interior designer to buy all his furniture for him.

They spent some time walking around, Ging stopping to talk to different groups of people and introducing Kite. Everyone was very polite; they asked him questions about his job, and no one blinked an eye when he told them, or even when he rolled up his sleeves because it was getting warm and some tattoos were showing.

He wasn’t sure why he automatically presumed everyone in their government would be incredibly conservative, because it wasn’t turning out to be true at all. Or maybe Ging was only friends with liberals.

Upon reflection, the latter made a bit more sense.

“Are you hungry?” Ging asked, smiling and waving to various guests.

“Sure.” Kite was actually starving, since he’d skipped dinner, but he maintained his stoic composure.

“Okay, it’s probably about time to eat. I’ll call everyone to dinner.” Ging disappeared into the kitchen and Kite was left alone. He was sucked up into a cluster of people talking about taxes. Someone asked for his opinion and he gave the most honest response he could think of, to a smattering of hums and approving nods. Someone even clapped him on the back.

Thankfully, Ging’s voice rang out from the kitchen, and the chatter stopped.

“If everyone could please head to the dining room, we will begin the meal shortly.”

The sea of people started to migrate, and Kite followed them, still engaged in a light conversation about taxes with the same group. The dining room was remarkably large with a long center table and chandeliers lighting the space. Kite found himself sitting across the table from Ging, smushed in between one of the ladies from earlier and a blonde man who reminded him of Hannibal Lecter.

The table was already set with food. It looked like some type of pork, with salads, polenta, and biscuits as side dishes. There were even a few bowls of soup. The rest of the guests didn’t bother waiting, digging in without restraint. Ging didn’t seem at all concerned. He was talking to the person next to him, someone rather old and stern-looking.

Kite loaded up his plate and poured himself a glass of wine. He was still tense from a long day and from being around so many people in close quarters.

“Do you mind indulging me, as well?” The man next to him asked, a sickly sweet smile that was undoubtedly fake on his face. Kite obliged and poured another glass. “Thank you, Kite.”

“Hm?” Kite hesitated. He was positive he hadn’t spoken to this man before.

“Oh, word gets around whenever Ging finds another play thing.”

“I see.” Kite's posture stiffened and he busied himself with eating. Dr. Lecter didn’t get the hint, because he kept talking.

“I’m Pariston Hill, by the way. Ging and I go way back. We’ve been acquaintances for as long as I can remember. I say acquaintances because we never seem to agree on anything, and it’s hard to be friends with someone you’re always fighting.”

Alarm bells rang in Kite’s head. Pariston was the man who’d called Gon, wanting to know why Ging didn’t show up at some debate. He was obviously a power player somehow. Kite narrowed his eyes. “Am I wrong in guessing that if you and Ging don’t get along, you and I won’t get along either?”

Pariston laughed. It sounded like a malevolent cackle. Ging’s head whipped around and he stared at them, worry lines on his brow.

“Hardly. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. Ging is a special type of repulsive, but he always picks good dates.”

“If he’s so repulsive, why are you here?”

“What can I say? I love the atmosphere. So… tortured artist lumberjack.”

Kite didn’t deign to reply, instead taking another bite of his food. It was quite delicious, perhaps not as refined as the dinner at Urasawa, but then, that was worth probably three times as much. Pariston’s attention wavered as someone else started chatting with him. Kite’s shoulders relaxed, and he continued to enjoy his food.

When he had eaten his fill, Kite set his silverware down and excused himself to the washroom. He had to search around a bit before he found it, and as he was shutting the door, a foot stopped it from closing. Ging’s shiny dress shoe pried the door open just enough for him to slip through and into the room with Kite.

“Are we synchronizing urinary schedules?” Kite asked dryly, not moving to unzip his pants.

“No. You just looked harrowed. Pariston?”

“Pariston.”

“He’s an asshole. Don’t let him get to you.”

“I wish I’d known that earlier, I wouldn’t have sat by him.”

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t introduce you because I figured he’d be a dick. But that backfired.”

“It’s fine. Your house is beautiful, by the way.”

“Thanks, it’s nothing, really. It has a roof and a kitchen.”

“Mm.” There was a short silence before Kite cleared his throat. “So. Ah. Why are you here?”

“Here? Oh, the bathroom? Like I said, you looked harrowed, and I wanted to offer my condolences.”

“Your condolences?”

Ging’s tan hand reached up to fix a flyaway from Kite’s braid. “For making you come all this way, just to be bothered by one of my colleagues. I’m terribly sorry.”

“The food’s been good…” Kite trailed off as Ging’s fingers traced his jaw lightly, and the mood shifted into something thicker.

“Has it?” Ging murmured, leaning in to nuzzle his lips against Kite’s ear. “I could cater to you more often, if you want.”

“Do you mean ‘for’?”

“No.” Ging’s mouth settled on his neck, biting and kissing across the tender skin. Kite found himself pressed up against the wall, hands gripping Ging’s sides, inhaling his comforting musky scent. He could only sigh with contentment as his throat was ravished.

The heat from Ging’s body melted away any anxieties he had about the dinner party. He pulled Ging closer, letting his hands ghost over his chest and up to the buttons of his shirt, where he gave a soft tug. Ging let out a grunt of affirmation and Kite popped the top button eagerly.

Their lips met in a shallow, tentative kiss. Rough hands pulled at Kite’s hair and the kiss deepened. Ging tasted of berries and alcohol – he must’ve been drinking wine too – and the intoxicating flavor made his head spin. Ging’s leg rubbed against the bulge in Kite’s pants. He let out a muffled groan into the kiss, rolling his hips a little to get more friction.

Ging pulled away, ducking down until he was eye-level with the black dress belt. Kite threaded his fingers through Ging’s hair and watched, biting his own lip. Ging untucked the red button-up, pushing the fabric out of the way and kissing Kite’s stomach, one hand hovering dangerously close to the bulge in his pants.

“I –”

“Hm?” Ging breathed from around his navel. Kite looked up at the ceiling with exasperation.

“I _really_ have to piss.”

He could feel Ging shaking with laughter, his forehead rubbing against the planes of Kite’s stomach. It tickled. Which just made things worse. Kite relinquished his hold on Ging’s hair and stepped away, unzipping his pants hastily. As he relieved himself, Ging slipped back outside, door shutting quietly behind him.

Kite cursed under his breath.

When he returned to dining room, several pairs of eyes tracked his movements. Had he missed something? Were there marks on his neck somewhere? Kite was about to get up again and go check, but glancing across the table, he noticed the obvious tussle in Ging’s hair, the flush in his cheeks, and the rumpled collar. Damn. Too late to cover it up. The other guests had probably drawn their own conclusions already. Kite just grabbed a slice of chocolate cake from the newly placed desserts and started chowing down.

And what goes good with chocolate cake? More wine.

“You’re not driving home tonight, are you? That’s your third glass.” Pariston’s god-awful voice teased him. Kite grit his teeth but said nothing. “Or wait, I’m sorry, how silly of me. You must be staying the night with Ging.”

He was just now feeling the buzz of the alcohol, mugging up the very edges of his consciousness with a pleasant warmth.

The woman to Kite’s left huffed loudly. “Pariston, _please_ , this is supposed to be a dinner party. Don’t ruin it with your manipulative politics.”

“Oh, but Cheadle, I was just getting to the good part.”

“I don’t think you were getting anywhere, actually.” Kite retorted.

“You’ve got a mouth on you. I like that.” Pariston’s abnormally bright eyes sparkled. “Does Ging like that too?”

“You’d better shut yours or you won’t have one anymore.” Kite’s patience was rapidly dissipating. He wasn’t scandalized or even offended at the vulgar comments, it was more annoying that anyone would be so rude at a semi-formal event. He felt like he was being goaded into something, which was no doubt Pariston’s intention, but he couldn’t help biting back a little. The alcohol didn’t make it any easier.

“Are you _threatening_ a senator?” Pariston took on an air of insult, leaning back with his palm on his heart.

“Are you pretending like senators hold special privileges that allow them to be exceptionally obnoxious?”

“Were you under the impression we didn’t?”

Kite poured another glass of wine. He was still too sober for this.

A few minutes later, Ging stood and gestured for everyone to be quiet. “I’d like to thank you all for coming, unfortunately, tomorrow morning, I must leave for Padokea, so I’ll have to cut the night short.”

“Short? It’s already eleven-thirty.” The woman, Cheadle, muttered. Kite swallowed his wine wrong and coughed lightly. How was it that late already?

The chatter started back up again and people began to filter out. They all bid Ging farewell, thanking him for the food, and some of the more inebriated guests gave him sloppy hugs.

Kite was on his way to do the same, wondering how long it would take a taxi to get here, but Ging grabbed his hand and ushered him into the kitchen.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Ging whispered into the crook of Kite’s neck. He was gone in a second, seeing everyone off, and Kite belatedly realized he was alone. The caterers had left, apparently, and the kitchen was clean and empty. Would Ging wash all the dessert plates by himself, then? That hardly seemed probable. Maybe he had a maid service coming in later. But it was almost midnight?

Thoughts floated through Kite’s mind as he waited, the alcohol in his system tingling through his limbs. Conversation from the other rooms died down as people slowly departed. He could hear the front door opening and closing in a steady rhythm, until a stillness came over the house. Kite noticed there were a few framed pictures of Gon on the counter. He smiled and bent down to look at them more closely.

“You’ve met him, haven’t you?” Ging asked from behind him.

“He came by the shop looking for you.”

“He’s always trying to find me. Even if he doesn’t want to spend time together, he likes to know where I am.”

“That’s sort of cute.”

“It’s a little bit obnoxious.” Ging carded a hand through his hair several times, returning it to its normal style – messy and unkempt. Kite found he rather preferred it that way.

“Look at it from his perspective. You’re his father figure, due to a series of unfortunate circumstances. Doesn’t it make sense that he wants to know you’re safe?”

“If your mini-you apprentice wanted to keep tabs on you all the time, wouldn’t you be annoyed?”

Kite propped himself against the counter, considering. “I… I suppose I would be.”

“It’s a catch twenty-two. But since that’s the only real problem in our relationship, it’s not a big deal.” Ging took a swig of wine from the bottle, offering it to Kite.

“I’ve had enough, thank you.”

“If you can still stand, you haven’t had enough yet.”

“Touché.” Kite took a small sip. “Are you really going to Padokea tomorrow?”

Ging snickered. “No.”

“…you just wanted everyone to leave.”

Ging didn’t offer a reply; instead, he reached into the refrigerator, pulling out a small plate of strawberries. They already had chocolate drizzled on them in decorative patterns. Kite raised an eyebrow, questioning, but he stayed silent, watching as Ging popped a strawberry in his mouth without chewing, playing with it between his teeth. The invitation was clear.

Kite stepped forward, setting the bottle of wine down and leaning closer, until he could smell the tempting smell of wine and sugar and fruit. Before he could take a bite of the strawberry, it had disappeared, and Ging was swallowing it peevishly.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself, it just tasted so good.”

“That’s awfully rude.”

Ging laughed, holding up another one between them. Kite wasted no time. He took it gingerly between his teeth, lapping up some of the chocolate before biting down. It was sweet and juicy and his entire mouth lit up with the flavor. Strawberries and wine had always been a soft spot for him. Ging was watching him closely, eyes locked on Kite’s lips, and Kite took one of Ging’s finger’s between his teeth slowly, repeating the motions. He licked some of the melted chocolate off Ging’s finger and took it into his mouth, sucking slowly, delicately, watching with glee as emotions flickered across Ging’s face at high speeds. Surprise, solemn realization, lust –

Ging’s finger disappeared, and another strawberry took its place.

“Have you ever played the pocky game?” Ging asked offhandedly, as he took a small sip of wine. Kite shook his head but gave a half-hearted shrug of comprehension. He understood the reference. Ging’s lips met his, gently at first, as he bit into the strawberry and it split in half. Kite could feel some of the juices dribbling down his chin a little. He swallowed his half and deepened the kiss, letting his tongue trace the tips of Ging’s teeth.

When they pulled apart, there were smears of chocolate everywhere, and Kite felt sort of sticky as he smacked his lips together.

Ging was rummaging in the fridge again, this time pulling out a tray of ice cubes. Kite chuckled with disbelief. There didn’t seem to be an end to this man’s interest in experimentation. Ging’s lips were on his, again, and the freezing cold wetness of an ice cube along his jawline made Kite jump. The kiss was warm, a comforting haze of chocolate and fruit and wine, but the water dripping down his neck was frigid and startling. He tried to focus on both sensations at once.

“Unbutton your shirt.” It was not a command, lacking harshness and authority, but it was more of a request, Ging’s soft lips making it impossible not to acquiesce. Kite’s hand feverishly worked at his buttons, the burgundy fabric slipping off his shoulders and pooling on the floor. He shivered as the ice cube traced patterns across his chest. “Lay down on the counter.”

Kite’s expression was puzzled, but he obeyed, sitting and then leaning back on the kitchen island, with his legs hanging off the edge. Ging positioned himself between Kite’s legs, kissing across his chest and continuing to trail the ice cube over his skin.

As Ging’s lips neared his belt, Kite bit his own lip in anticipation, propping himself up on his elbows to watch. With some tinkering and a flourish, the belt was undone, and Ging pulled down the zipper of Kite’s dress pants painfully slowly. He didn’t seem surprised that Kite was already hard; he pressed his lips against the bulge in Kite’s boxerbriefs, looking up through his lashes with a sly grin. Kite swallowed.

Ging grabbed another ice cube and popped it into his mouth. Realizing what was about to transpire, Kite almost protested, but was overcome with curiosity, instead. It wasn’t like he’d never wondered about it.

When Ging enveloped him in his mouth, it was a cooling sensation, the frigidness of the ice cube mixing in with the natural heat of Ging’s body to even out the temperature. It wasn’t unpleasant, and as Ging’s tongue worked around the head of his erection, he got used to the feeling. The tightness of Ging’s hand gripping him and the skill with which he used his tongue and the softness of his lips made Kite whine under his breath. Every so often, Ging would add a new ice cube, to keep the temperature constant.

When he wasn’t setting a punishing pace, Ging mumbled meaningless nothings around him, lips flush against his shaft and tongue lazily rubbing circles on Kite’s frenulum. Sometimes he would stop to bite Kite’s hip or flick his tongue across the jewelry of Kite’s navel piercing. There was no question he could pay attention to detail. Kite was sort of surprised, but he didn’t have the coherency to dwell, getting lost in the mix of textures of Ging’s mouth.

He bucked up his hips a few times and Ging let him, grunting if Kite went too far or startled him.

The heat was building in Kite’s stomach, and he thought Ging could tell, because he took two ice cubes in his mouth this time, and the temperature dropped a little – but he moved faster, sucking harder and deeper and groaning in the back of his throat, sending tiny tingling vibrations through Kite’s cock and up his spine. It was sloppy and dripping and wet, but those were all incredibly _good_ feelings, and Kite felt himself melting like the ice cubes he was being blown with. Kite grit his teeth and his entire body tensed. He barely got out an “Ah –” as a warning before he came, hot and heavy pleasure flashing through his body. Kite shuddered and moaned, fingers gripping the edges of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

When the wave of ecstasy had subsided, Kite looked down at Ging apologetically, expecting to see him spitting cum out or wiping his mouth off with annoyance. Instead, Ging was smirking, and there was no trace of anything on his lips. Obviously he’d swallowed everything.

Kite couldn’t stutter out a word just yet. He laid his head back, and felt Ging kissing his stomach and then his shoulder and then his neck and then his lips. He could taste himself in the kiss, warm and salty.

The feeling returned to his limbs and he finally sat up.

 “Trade you.” Kite panted, slipping off the counter and tucking himself away in his boxerbriefs. Ging grinned as he took his shirt off. He complied and sat on the counter in Kite’s place.

Kite grabbed a bottle of chocolate syrup from the fridge. He’d guessed there was some lying around, because of the strawberries, and when Ging let out a muffled laugh, Kite smiled. Fair was fair, right?

“Don’t get it on my pants.”

“You sucked me off with an ice cube in your mouth. Wherever it ends up, it ends up.”

Ging huffed but conceded. Kite poured some chocolate in a trail across Ging’s chest, making as much of a design as was possible given the clumsy instrument and the alcohol still thrumming away in his system. He was aiming for some type of octopus. The tentacles reached down Ging’s stomach and splayed across his sides, dripping onto the counter, and when Kite finished, it was a muddled mess of squiggles that slowly oozed across warm skin.

Kite leaned down, starting at Ging’s navel and following one tentacle up to his chest, savoring the mix of skin and chocolate and heat that grazed his tongue. He took a drink of wine and sighed contently. As far as Friday nights went, this was not a bad one.

Rubbing Ging through his pants with his hand as he continued, Kite licked up another line of chocolate, trying his best to get every ounce of it. There would undoubtedly be a sticky residue no matter how hard he tried, so it’s not like it mattered, but it was entertaining to see Ging squirm.

When Kite had effectively cleaned off the first round of chocolate, he unzipped Ging’s pants, taking his excited cock in hand. Kite maintained eye contact as he stroked slowly. Ging’s face was flushed but his eyes were still focused, heavy and hazed with lust.

Kite bent forward, licking at the tip of Ging’s erection teasingly, and traced his tongue over the veins of the shaft. He could feel Ging’s hips quiver under him. When he felt like he had held-off long enough, Kite wrapped his mouth around his shaft. He swallowed around the length of it, pressing his tongue in different areas, and then started to bob his head. Ging groaned softly, running his fingers through Kite’s hair and unbraiding it. He tugged and massaged encouragingly. Kite allowed him to direct him for a little bit.

Minutes later, Kite thought it was about time to showcase one of his more useful abilities. He inhaled deeply and took Ging’s cock as far down as it would go – which was all the way. Kite’s lips brushed the base of Ging’s pelvis. His throat felt full but he persevered, rubbing his tongue against every bit of skin he could. Kite heard Ging’s breathing hitch with surprise and fought the urge to smile. He came up for a breath and grabbed the bottle of chocolate syrup, drizzling more lines over Ging’s stomach for what was to come. Understanding flashed in Ging’s eyes, and Kite returned his lips to Ging’s erection, deep throating him again.

He maintained a lethal rhythm, alternating between teasing the head with his tongue, wrapping his lips around the shaft and sucking, and deep throating the entire length. Ging was starting to pant above him, and Kite sped up, focusing entirely on maintaining a fast pace.

Ging’s fingers tightened in his hair, and Kite released him from his mouth, using a hand to finish him the rest of the way. A low, thick moan slipped past Ging’s lips as he came, cum spurting out from his cock onto his stomach. It mixed with the chocolate and formed a crosshatched pattern. Kite licked him a few more times, placing kisses up his shaft and across the head. He sucked gently until Ging had nothing left to give.

With a wicked smile, Kite ran his tongue across Ging’s stomach, lapping up the blend of cum and chocolate. He let out a satisfied hum. It tasted sweet and rich and salty; like dark chocolate with almonds and sea salt.

After things were mostly clean, Kite pressed a kiss to Ging’s lips affectionately.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, kissing through the afterglow. Only the uncomfortable stickiness on their stomachs prompted them to separate.

“ _Fuck_.” Ging breathed, brushing Kite’s hair out of his face reverently.

“Yeah.” Kite agreed.

“We should wash up.”

“ _Definitely_.”

Ging brought them to what Kite guessed was his bedroom. It was unnecessarily large and decadent, with a huge, plush-looking bed, television, couch arrangement, and attached bathroom.

The shower was made of marble, with a waterfall head and a bench to sit on. Kite noticed the utter lack of products – only body wash and a 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioner bottle – and found himself wondering how someone could shower without brushes, pumice and loofahs. Ging was almost too simple for him.

They kissed slowly under the warm water, taking their time lathering up and rinsing off the sticky remnants of their endeavors. Kite washed his hair with Ging’s shampoo to remove any traces of hairspray or sweat that had accumulated.

Stepping out of the shower, Kite wrapped a towel around his waist, but the never-ending waterfall of his hair kept him drenched.

“I’ll get you a towel for your hair.” Ging left for a moment, and Kite stood patiently, water droplets dotting the tile. His reflection stared back at him and he suddenly felt as though his chest was quite plain. An idea for a new tattoo bloomed in his mind, and he glanced around for some type of paper. Except he was in a bathroom. Dripping wet and quite nude. “Is something wrong?” Ging had returned, partially dressed, handing him an extra towel and a clean pair of sweatpants. Kite wrung his hair out and wrapped it up, blotting up as much of the wetness as he could, and slipped Ging’s pants on. They were loose; Ging was just a little stockier.

“Do you have paper and a pen?”

“Huh? I mean – yeah, somewhere. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, I just need to draw something really fast.”

Ging retrieved a spiral bound notebook and a pen – ballpoint would have to do for now – from his office, and Kite set to work, sketching out his mental image hastily. Ging watched in fascination as they lay together on his bed, the TV murmuring softly in the background. Everything smelled earthy and natural. Kite had come to realize Ging’s house was filled with this scent purely because of its location. The surrounding pine trees and elm trees carried with them a sparkling freshness, and Ging’s musky smell mixed with it to create a unique blend of soil and mint. It was beyond soothing.

Kite laid the pen down, flexing his fingers after gripping it so hard, and surveyed his sketch. It was messy and the ballpoint pen had left clumps of ink in inappropriate places and he had smeared some of the ink on his hand so the whole thing was sort of a disaster, from an artist’s perspective, but he loved it. It was an angular rendition of nature; sort of a slice of life, set into a diamond, composed of pointillist shading and scratchy details.

“Did you just now think of that?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a wreck.”

“It’s beautiful, like you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“We’re both drunk.”

“Mm.”

Kite set his drawing on the floor carefully before curling up in the comforter. Ging’s sheets felt like silk; what kind of thread count was he packing? 1000? 1500? He looked up at the vaulted ceiling, made of thick wood beams and decorated with a ceiling fan that spun lazily. This house was somewhere he would be more than happy to spend time in, maybe even live. It was crafted from nature, surrounded by nature, and somehow felt like nature – maybe because of the wide window panes that offered an unobstructed view of the trees.

He felt his eyes drooping with tiredness.

Kite glanced over at Ging, who was still watching him, amber irises just as bright as they were the first time they’d met. He didn’t seem tired at all. He didn’t look drunk, either, and the flush on his cheeks from the hot shower and the hot sex had faded into the sunkissed tan of his skin. Did anything affect him long-term? No matter what happened to him or with him, Ging always returned to his natural state of earthen calmness.

A warm hand stroked his side, and Ging shifted closer, touching their foreheads together. They didn’t say anything.

The stars outside were still twinkling merrily when their eyes finally shut.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kayla for beta-ing this for me!


	8. Andromeda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My OT4, tbh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for being done with midterms and having time to write fluffy stuff!

An aggressively loud noise tore through Kite’s consciousness, and he shot up in bed, vision blurry and head spinning. It sounded like a chainsaw. Panic gripped his chest, but a wide window to his left with a beautiful view of the greenery outside reminded him that he wasn’t, in fact, home and there probably wasn’t anyone breaking into his apartment. As awareness finally settled in, he recognized the noise as that of a blender, and the empty space beside him indicated who the culprit was.

A clock on the wall read a little past noon. Kite slumped back into the overstuffed pillows tiredly. The blender stopped.

He heard Ging’s footsteps padding across the carpet, but couldn’t find it in himself to move, both out of exhaustion and curiosity. Something was placed quietly on the bedside table and he felt the weight of Ging’s body sliding back into bed with him. Kite peeked through the mess of his hair, just to see.

Ging was propped up on some pillows with a book in hand and a glass filled with something pink. From the fruity smell, Kite figured it was a smoothie.

He snorted despite himself and Ging jumped. “You _read_?”

“Shit, I didn’t know you were awake. Did you sleep oka – what do you mean, do I _read_?”

“I just never took you for someone bookish.”

“I’m a senator. I have to be at least somewhat intelligent.”

“Some of your guests last night didn’t really meet that standard.”

“Are you talking about Pariston?”

“Perhaps.”

“Don’t let him fool you, he’s actually brilliant. But in a twisted, sociopathic, manipulative kind of way. He plays dumb a lot.”

“And you?”

“Me?”

Kite rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “Do you play dumb?”

“…not usually.”

The clock ticked rhythmically in the background as they watched each other for a minute, soaking up the messy details of another morning-after. Ging’s shoulders and neck were covered in small bruises. The expanse of his torso looked incredibly inviting; the faintest outline of his abdominals was visible, even though he was slouching, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips, exposing a thin trail of black hair. Kite felt his mouth water.

But he was still so _tired_. Maybe later. There was no rush to get to work today. It was a peaceful atmosphere.

Kite’s hair had dried into a chaotic swarm of curls and tangles. Sleeping on it wet always created some new monstrous hairstyle, so he avoided it whenever possible, but alas. It was too late. He took a hair tie from his wrist and whipped it into a sloppy bun. The weight of it made his head throb angrily.

“I made you a smoothie. It helps.” Ging offered, gesturing to the glass by Kite’s side.

“What’s in it?”

“Strawberries, bananas, odds and ends.”

Kite took a sip and was pleasantly surprised. It was refreshing and tangy. “I didn’t figure you for a cook, either.”

Ging laughed. “I’m definitely no cook. But I can make a drink or two.”

Kite took another drink before swinging his legs out of bed to use the bathroom, and feeling the crumple of paper under his feet. He glanced down to see a notebook. The memory flashed into his head for a second, so he picked it up, studying the lines and the ink blots and the haphazard shading. He couldn’t recall what about it had been so alluring – it just looked sloppy, now. Kite set it next to his glass before relieving himself.

When he returned, Ging was sprawled out across the bed, craning his neck to watch the TV upside-down. The book, _Kafka on the Shore_ , had been neatly tucked away into a small bookcase. His tanned stomach was taut and Kite struggled to focus on his face – not that that was much better, since Ging was incredibly handsome.

“What do you want to watch?” Ging asked, remote in his hand as he flicked through a Netflix screen.

“To watch?”

“Sorry, do you have somewhere to be?”

“Oh, no. I don’t.”

“Then hunker down. Let’s watch something.”

“I – okay.”

Kite sat down. He began to pluck pillows from the headboard, surrounding himself in a small fortress, to keep his gaze from trailing over Ging’s incredibly tempting physique. This man would be the death of him.

“How about this? I’m already two seasons in, but we can start over.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m sort of serious.”

“That show is complete garbage. I thought you had better taste, what with reading Murakami, and all.”

“I can enjoy experimentally philosophical writing _and_ thriller TV shows.”

“ _Pretty Little Liars_ isn’t a thriller!”

“What would you call it?”

“A really bad mystery series that drags on so long you lose interest in the mystery.” 

“Listen, the plot development of this show is –”

“There’s no plot at all, Ging. It’s just awful.”

“We’re watching it. I want to know who A is.”

“I can tell you who A is right now.”

“What? Don’t, what the fuck –” Ging covered his ears frantically.

“A is –”

“How do you know who A is if it’s so terrible and you’ve never watched it?”

Kite stifled a laugh. “I may have done some reading.”

“You read the spoilers online? I can’t fucking believe you, you hypocrite –”

“Fine, whatever, we can watch it. But only if I can answer any questions you have with a lie.”

“So what, if I ask you what happens next, you’ll lie to me about it?”

“Exactly.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“You drove a hard bargain last night.”

“Whatever. Deal.”

They spent most of the day lying in bed together to marathon the show, with excited yelling and _I told you so’s_ and cavalier laughter whenever a character died. At some point in the afternoon, they ordered a pizza, Ging eating most of it and Kite demolishing the breadsticks instead.

It was around nine when Ging finally crawled out of bed, stretching languidly. A few joints in his back popped. Kite watched from underneath a pile of blankets. His legs were tangled in the bedding, because there had been several scuffles during the marathon, and perhaps even a pillow fight over the last chicken wing from dinner.

“Do you feel like going for a swim?”

“A swim?”

Taking his hand, Ging led Kite out of the bedroom and through the house, emerging outside on a balcony with a sizable pool and accompanying hot tub. Ging stopped at the bar (of course he had a bar outside on the pool deck), grabbing a bottle of tequila, some limes, and a salt shaker.

“You can’t be serious.” Kite scoffed. “We were drunk just last night.”

“When was the last time you unwound for a whole weekend? It’s a Saturday night, we spent the whole day in bed, what else would we do?”

“I mean…”

Ging’s face fell. “You weren’t planning on going home, were you? I mean, it’s okay if you’re not in the mood –”

Kite shook his head. “It’s not that. I just. Well, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to, you know. Stay. Stay over. Again.” The dim porch lighting hid the pinkness in his cheeks.

“Oh. Sorry, I guess I didn’t ever officially invite you. You’re free to stay here.” They stood awkwardly for a few seconds before Ging held up the tequila bottle. “Think we can finish this?”

“God, I hope not. We’d drown.” Kite stepped out of the too-big sweatpants, folding them neatly and laying them on a chaise lounge for safe keeping. Ging’s gaze tracked his movements. “Are we swimming, or staring?”

“Both.”

Kite was left in his boxer briefs, so he found the diving board and cannonballed in. The water was satisfyingly warm. Small LED lights illuminated the edges of the pool, for better visibility, and it added a pristine sparkle that was quite calming. He looked over at Ging curiously. He hadn’t even started to remove his clothing.

“Something wrong?”

“No, I just – you got in so fast.”

“…do you not get into your own pool this fast?”

Ging made a move to take his pants off, but stopped. “Is the water okay?”

“Come in and find out.”

Ging grumbled and approached the edge of the pool. He stuck his foot out, obviously about to test the water’s temperature, but Kite grabbed his leg and yanked him forward. There was a gargantuan _splash_ as Ging belly flopped in. His head popped out of the water a few seconds later, and he spluttered furiously.

“I wasn’t ready, damn it!”  Kite laughed, flicking some water in his face and swimming away.

In the distance, he could hear nature quietly shuffling about, owls hooting and rustling in the bushes. He thought he saw the antlers of a deer dash away into the night. The stars were just starting to wake up. Ging was still cursing under his breath, but he had removed his pants and tossed them onto the pool deck, soaked as they were.

“Hey, Ging?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a fence? A backyard fence?”

“No. The front is gated off for property marking purposes, but there’s no reason to tear up the landscape with chain links. That would be counterintuitive.”

It made enough sense. This was supposed to be a nature reserve of sorts, after all, but the openness was just the tiniest bit scary.

“Don’t you ever worry about robbers?”

“I’m more worried about raccoons, honestly.”

Ging looked up at the sky, and Kite saw the muscles in his jaw flex, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the tiny droplets of water caught on his stubble and the wet sheen on his skin – he collected himself and changed the subject. “Do you want to play Marco Polo?”

Ging snorted. “How old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-seven. But I bet I could beat your ass anyway.”

A playful hand swiped at his head, and Kite ducked away to avoid it.

“Who goes first?”

“Janken?”

“Fine.”

Kite was terrible at Janken, and lost immediately. “Okay, I’ll count to ten.” He submerged himself under the water and counted in his head. Muted splashing noises came from somewhere to his left, but he wasn’t sure where.

Nine… ten.

“Marco?”

“Polo.” From his right.

“Marco?”

“Polo.” From his… left?

“Marco?”

“Polo.” From right behind him – an arm wrapped around his waist and hauled him upwards, until he was teetering on Ging’s shoulder like a log being carried by a lumberjack. Ging couldn’t hold him for long, and they both came crashing down, mouths filling with water as they laughed.

Kite swam a few laps around the pool. His strokes were lazy, but it felt good to work all the muscles in his body, loosening them up after a day of doing nothing. He vaguely wondered how long it took for muscle atrophy to set in. When he had his fill, Kite hoisted himself up on the pool’s ledge, wringing out his hair. Ging was trying to do a handstand in the shallow end. He toppled over repeatedly as Kite watched with bemusement. He called out pointers whenever Ging surfaced, telling him to straighten his legs and keep his hands a shoulders’ width apart.

It didn’t help. Ging couldn’t hold the pose for longer than a few seconds.

Ging was shaking the water out of his hair like a dog when he asked, “Do you want to do body shots with me?”

“What?”

“Body shots.”

“While swimming?”

“Not in the pool, in the hot tub. I’m not _that_ reckless.”

Kite kicked his legs in the water for a moment. “Sure, why not.”

Ging smiled widely. He shimmied out of the pool and gestured for Kite to lay down on a lounge. The bottle was uncorked with a _pop_. Kite stared up at the stars as he waited. Pollution and lights from the surrounding city made them hard to see, but he could make out a few constellations. Wind whispered in the trees quietly. It was a truly peaceful place, and he wished he could see it in the daylight, to appreciate the space more. Maybe in the morning.

“If you don’t mind.” A lime was held up in front of him, and Kite took it between his lips obediently, making a face at the sour flavor. He felt salt being sprinkled onto his abdomen. It tickled but he forced himself not to laugh. The warm wetness of Ging’s tongue lapping up the salt sent shivers down his spine, and he heard the telltale _gulp_ as Ging took his shot. They were kissing seconds later, the sharp taste of lime and tequila mixing in their mouths.

Ging’s hand pressed against his side. Their tongues danced together for a few minutes, just enjoying the heat of the moment.

Ging sat up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and offered the bottle to Kite. “Your turn.”

Four shots later, Kite was feeling buzzed, his body warm and tingly with life. Ging still didn’t look that affected, so maybe his tolerance level was higher, but Kite wasn’t bothered. He was never much of a drinker anyway and it wasn’t a competition.

Ging stood and disappeared for a moment. Bubbles suddenly started sprouting from the Jacuzzi, and there were even warm yellow lights that illuminated the water. It looked unbearably inviting. Kite sunk into the hot tub, boxerbriefs and all, letting out a content sigh as the hot water soaked into his body and relaxed him even more. His white hair rippled on the surface of the water with the bubbles.

“You won’t clog up the system with all that, will you?” Ging joked, slipping in next to him.

“I’m sure you could fix it. Clogs aren’t permanent.”

They shifted to accommodate each other, until Kite was curled up on Ging’s chest, their legs entangled. Ging threaded their fingers together and stroked Kite’s hand with his thumb.

“Do you mind? Holding hands?” Ging asked softly into his ear.

Little butterflies flew around in his stomach. “No, I like it.”

They sat quietly for a while. Kite watched airplanes cross the night sky. 

“Why are we out here?” He asked absently.

“I thought you liked nature.”

Kite fixed his attention on Ging’s face. He looked pensive, perhaps even serious, though that could just be the lighting. He registered his heart speeding up. “You paid attention?”

“You have nature all over your body. It was hard to miss.” Ging smiled, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I don’t know, the Freecss’ seem like an ignorant line of people…” Kite murmured.

“That’s rude. Don’t tell Gon you said that.”

“I won’t.” He nuzzled his nose into the crook of Ging’s neck and let out a content sigh.

“You get affectionate when you’re tired, don’t you.” It was more of an observation than a question. Kite nodded noiselessly. “Okay. It’s late, let’s get you to bed.” He didn’t see the dusting of pink on Ging’s cheeks, nor the fondness in his expression.

With an impressive show of strength, Ging lifted Kite up, bridal-style, carrying him inside. Kite felt bad for the tsunami of water coming off his hair. It dripped relentlessly over the floor, leaving a hazardous trail behind them.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but when Ging shifted in bed next to him, draping an arm over Kite’s waist, a warmth in his chest blossomed.

Ging’s phone rang around seven in the morning, and he begrudgingly rolled off the bed to answer it.

“Hello? Oh, Gon, what’s – you want to what? Now? Do you know what time it is? They’re not going to be out at this time, you won’t catch anything – Gon, please – Jesus, Christ, okay, fine. Fine. Okay.” A small _beep_ as the call ended. Kite felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, ah, I don’t want to like, kick you out or anything, but Gon wants to go fishing.”

Kite cracked an eye open. “Fishing?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. He said he’s bringing your apprentice, Killer? No, that’s not –”

“They’re going _together_?” Sitting up in bed, Kite pushed his hair out of his face, beaming. “I knew it!”

“Knew what…?”

“Killua and Gon.”

“Wait, they’re –”

“Aren’t they?”

“Gon didn’t mention –”

“Would you mention that to _your_ dad?”

“…I guess not.” Ging’s his eyebrows scrunched together in thought. “Well, you’re more than welcome to come with us.”

“Fishing?”

“Yeah. Gon loves fishing. I’m not sure why he asked me to come along, though.”

“Because he likes to spend time with you, probably.”

“What a pain.”

///

By eight-thirty, they were sitting on the dock of a lake, waiting for Gon and Killua to arrive. Sunlight was just peeking over the trees on the horizon. Ging had grumbled the whole way there, downing four cups of espresso during the drive. Kite was worried he might vibrate into the next dimension if he had any more, so he took the cup for himself, nursing it while he dangled his legs off the dock.

Tiny ripples in the water indicated there were fish here, by whatever stroke of luck.

He heard them before he saw them: playful teasing and embarrassed mumbles, gushing over something, a quiet giggle from Killua and the more unabashed laugh from Gon.

They were carrying a picnic basket and thankfully, fishing gear. Ging didn’t have any in his fortress of a house.

“Kite! Why are you –” Killua stopped in his tracks, face turning beet red and increasing the distance between his body and Gon’s. He seemed to have forgotten they were linked by their fingers.

“Ging was nice enough to invite me. That’s not a problem, is it?” Kite couldn’t keep the glee out of his voice (though he did try), and Killua’s flush deepened.

“Of course not! I’m so happy you’re here, Kite. Do you know how to fish?” Gon’s chipper voice was nothing but genuine, and he let go of Killua’s hand to rush forward onto the dock. He dumped the baitbox and rods at his feet.

“I don’t. I’ve never tried it.”

“Wow, really? I can show you! It’s really easy, as long as you’re patient…”

Kite smiled, listening to the instructions spilling out Gon’s mouth as he started baiting the hooks. Killua was still shuffling around awkwardly by himself, and Ging was leaning against one of the dock’s posts, staring off into the distance. Kite wasn’t sure if he was seriously contemplating something or just intensely ignoring his son’s enthusiasm. Maybe both.

By the time he had a fishing rod in his hands, the sun was merrily beating down on them, and he was already starting to feel a bit warm. Ging had offered some of his clothes for the trip, some jeans – still too loose on Kite’s slim hips – and a plain t-shirt. He didn’t, of course, have any sunscreen, which in Kite’s case, was a tad troublesome. He didn’t tan well.

“Hey, look, some geese!”

“They’re heading for your picnic basket, Gon.”

“Oh, no! I can get rid of them –” Gon was fiddling with his fishing rod, trying to find somewhere to lay it down.

“I’ll get it.” Ging heaved himself into motion and headed towards the flock.

Kite stared. Was it possible that a grown man living on a nature reserve didn’t know how awful those monsters could be? No, right? And yet, there he went, hands in his pockets and cap askew, like he _wasn’t_ about to be mauled to death by nature’s most hellacious creatures. Well, Kite wasn’t going to stop him.  

“Wait, Ging, you can’t just walk up to them, they’ll –”

Gon was such a precious person, so thoughtful and kind. It was commendable. The geese could learn from him.

Loud yells filled the air, and there was a flurry of movement as every bird within a mile radius took off into the sky with fear. Ging was backing up, waving his cap around like it would do any good, and a particularly large goose was snapping at him like an angry dog. It was probably the leader.

Gon dropped his fishing rod, standing to help, but Kite just snickered. “Serves him right.”

“Mm.” Killua nodded in agreement.

They watched with fascination as Ging disappeared in a sea of white wings and loud honking. Kite didn’t notice when something tugged lightly on the hook, and then more insistently. He didn’t fully realize until he was in midair, freefalling straight into the lake as what must’ve been a whale shark, or something equally sized, reminded him why he should never attempt fishing again. He just wasn’t cut out for it.

He gasped for air when he surfaced. His hair was plastered to his forehead and fanned out around him like seaweed, and he could feel the tiny swishes of fish swimming by his feet. Ging was some distance away, looking like he was about to climb a tree to escape the geese. Gon and Killua were doubled over, laughing too hard to help anyone.

Kite spit out a mouthful of lakewater before joining in. The glow on Killua’s skin, the light in his eyes, the freedom with which he moved – it was all unfamiliar. Kite couldn’t remember the last time his apprentice looked so full of life.

He also couldn’t remember the last time his own chest had felt so satisfyingly warm, either.

///

The sun had set, and after they’d cooked Gon’s catches – he was the only one successful that day – the two boys had gone home, leaving Ging and Kite lying on the lakeshore, stargazing.

“What’s that one?” Kite pointed.

“Cassiopeia. The queen.”

“And that one?”

“Perseus. And that one’s Hydra.”

“They’re all from Greek mythology?”

“Sometimes. Different cultures gave them different names, with different stars. See that group of them over there? That’s Andromeda. But the people from the Azian continent saw it differently. They said it was a boar, using only a few of the stars.”

“A boar?”

Ging guided Kite’s pointer finger to trace the pattern in the sky. “Do you see it?”

“…yeah.”

Kite stared for a few more moments before rolling onto his stomach, grabbing the notebook and a pen. He started sketching while Ging hummed quietly beside him.

Astrology was never something he’d paid much attention to. He didn’t know his Zodiac sign, what it meant, and certainly didn’t know anything about astronomy. But there was something simplistically beautiful about how people attributed meaning to clusters of light in the sky.

“Is that Andromeda?”

“It’s the boar.” He supposed it did look sort of vague. On a whim, Kite scratched out a rough boar’s head, so it was wreathed inside the constellation.

Ging was watching him intently. Kite put down his pen and looked up, waiting for him to say something. There was a silence as Ging hesitated. It looked like words wanted to tumble out of but weren’t quite there yet. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.

Finally, he spoke. “Do you… mind if I keep that?”

Kite scratched his head with surprise. “Sure. It’s only a doodle.”

Ging didn’t say anything more, just taking the notebook in his hands and looking over the drawing, his messy hair hiding his eyes. Kite saw the edges of his lips twitch upwards, but just barely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Kayla for beta-ing this for me (u sinner ilu)!


	9. Full Disclosure

Spin and Kite were lounging by the front desk, tossing ideas back and forth, when the door burst open. Kite felt a breeze before beefy arms picked him up off the chair in a crushing hug. He smelled the familiar cologne and patted Knuckle’s back awkwardly.

“Kite! It’s been so long, it feels like forever since I saw you, are you okay? How are you guys doing? Nothing went wrong, right?”

“Everything’s fine. It’s good to see you.”

“I – missed you…” Knuckle set Kite down, his lips tugged down at the corners and the tiniest sparkle of a tear in his eyes. Kite smiled.

“We missed you too, Knucks.”

They hugged again, and Kite could hear sniffling from his friend, something he’d grown used to as they’d gotten closer. Knuckle’s personality went beyond “good”; he was a pure soul, always emotionally honest and genuine. Kite really enjoyed working with him for that reason, both as a co-worker and a friend.

Over Knuckle’s shoulder, Kite saw Knov standing in the doorway, struggling to carry all their luggage. His demeanor was decidedly less inviting. Of the two of them, Knov was more cat-like, definitely. He would never be so openly affectionate, instead preferring a more subtle approach: a pat on the shoulder, thoughtful presents on your desk, and small chores around the shop taken care of with a handwritten note on the fridge.

They made an interesting group of personalities. Kite thought that was why they worked so well, and had lasted so long in this faux-family unit of tattooers.

Knov and Knuckle took their time unpacking. They brought souvenirs from the convention, mostly T-shirts and signed art pieces. Kite received a charcoal piece of a grim reaper, which he hung in his office behind his desk. There was much idle chit-chat and joking while they reunited.

Once everyone was settled, Kite moved to the break room for a snack, and Knuckle followed.

“It’s good to have you guys back. The shop felt really empty without you.” Kite said, biting into his sandwich.

“It’s good to be back. I love Knov and all, but he’s kind of a tightass. It takes a lot of liquor for him to loosen up and it’s no fun traveling if you can’t remember any of it.”

“That’s fair.”

Knuckle opened a bag of chips and offered some to Kite. “You seem different, boss.”

“Different? How so?”

“Happier, maybe. You’re smiling more and you’re more relaxed. Not that you were ever uptight, just that you’re giving off different vibes. Did something happen?”

“I guess. I’m sort of seeing someone.”

Knuckle slammed his hand down on the table, eyes wide. “You _are_?”

“Mm.”

“Who is it? Is it someone I know? It’s not Shoot, is it, because –”

“No, you probably don’t know him. His name is Ging.”

“Ging? Ging Freecss? The senator?”

“How did everyone else know who he was before I did?” Kite grumbled.

“You live with your head in the sand, that’s how.” Knuckle leaned back in his chair. “A senator, huh? Impressive. Even for you.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well, we all know you’re objectively attractive, but I’d never guessed you could land someone of such high status. Because of your occupation, you know.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s rather infatuated with some of the piercings, in fact.”

“I bet he is. Is it serious? This thing with you two?”

“I’m not sure. We’ve only met up a few times.”

Knuckle paused, a glazed look coming over his features for a moment, before he set his elbows on the table in a no-nonsense gesture. “Does he make you happy?”

“I thought you were going to ask if we used protection, for a second.”

“Jesus. You’re older than I am, you can take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Kite thought for a second. Did Ging make him happy? There was absolutely no doubt in his mind the answer was yes, on some superficial level, he really enjoyed his time with Ging, no matter what they ended up doing. But he guessed Knuckle’s implication went much deeper than that. Did Ging fulfill something in him that could constitute the foundation for a longer relationship?

He finally settled on an answer. It was sort of a cop-out, but it was also the truth. “There’s potential, I think.”

Knuckle seemed satisfied. “Well, if he ever fucks you over, I’ll shove him into a garbage bag and throw him into a dumpster.”

“Thank you, I feel comforted.” Kite chuckled.

“It’s my job.”

“…what were you going to say? About Shoot?”

The chip between Knuckle’s fingers cracked in half, and his thick eyebrows twitched. “Nothing.”

Kite leaned forward to look him in the eye. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not! It’s nothing, really.” He crossed his arms and looked away, like a child angry with their parents.

“You don’t have feelings for him, do you?”

“No!”

The indignation was a dead giveaway, but Kite didn’t press the issue. “Okay. But if you did, I might offer you some advice: he’s very shy, so he won’t make the first move.”

“What move? No one’s moving, what are you talking about? Stop it.”

Kite left Knuckle to seethe, smiling widely.

///

They were in the middle of a makeshift group dinner when Spin tapped Kite on the shoulder. “Didn’t you have an appointment with that spider guy tonight?”

“With the who?”

“The gang leader. Who hit on you. You know, when you guys almost fucked in the –”

“Oh, I remember. Shit, you’re right. I didn’t confirm with him.” Kite scratched the back of his head. He’d entirely forgotten about his encounter with Chrollo, but now the memories were rushing back, and he felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. That was a can of worms he didn’t feel ready to open again. The thing with Ging wasn’t official, by any means, and he didn’t think they were exclusive, but his soft spot for Ging was growing rapidly, and it complicated the issue. There were a lot of blurry lines and unresolved tensions he’d have to deal with in the coming days.

“Maybe if you’re lucky, he won’t show up.”

“And if you’re unlucky, he’ll bring more of his gang members, and you’ll have to do some freebies.” Killua chimed in, mouth full of chicken.

“I think he’ll be here. He seemed pretty interested in me.”

“How can you be so nonchalant about it? Do you like him too?” Spin nudged him with her elbow, grinning.

Kite took a bite of his biscuit as he pondered. “He’s not really my type.”

“What _is_ your type?”

“Clean shaven, practical, punctual, calm, sort of bookish, maybe. Ordinary and quiet.”

“…so the opposite of Ging _and_ Chrollo.”

“I guess.”

“Wow, you fucked that up, didn’t you. Getting it on with two men who _aren’t_ your type.” Killua said sarcastically.

The bell chimed, and Spin’s mouth opened in a wide ‘O’. Her eyes darted from Kite to the door.

 “Hi, welcome in!” She plastered a smile on, trying not to laugh, and giving Kite a kick under the table as she spoke. Kite swallowed the rest of his biscuit with a _gulp_ , and turned to look.

Chrollo was dressed more casually today, in jeans and a shirt, but the shirt was mostly mesh, showing off his well-toned figure. His hair was slicked back and there was no bandana this time, revealing a cross tattoo on his forehead. Kite felt his mouth go dry.

Okay, so maybe Chrollo wasn’t his personality type, but damn if he wasn’t attractive.

“Hey, we had a follow-up.” Chrollo’s silky voice sent icicles down Kite’s spine.

“Right. I can, uh, get you in right now.” Killua snickered behind his chicken, and Kite shot him a deadly glare.

“We’ll save some potatoes for you in the fridge.” Spin waved them off.

Kite nodded his thanks, leading Chrollo into his workspace and shutting the glass door behind him.

“Have there been any problems with healing so far?”

“No, it’s been perfect, thanks to my great artist.” Chrollo sat down, tugging his shirt over his head, muscles rippling with the movements.

Kite stared for a moment before jerking back into motion. “Oh, you don’t need to take your shirt off just yet, I have to clean my tools –”

Chrollo raised his eyebrows. “Are you complaining? Should I put it back on?”

“I – if you’re more comfortable being shirtless, then...”

“Aren’t you more comfortable with me being shirtless?”

Kite feigned indifference and started up the autoclave, prepping his black ink caps and laying out the rest of his tools. “I’m comfortable either way.” He could feel Chrollo’s heavy gaze on his back. The air was almost viscous with a tangible heat. “Okay, we’re ready. Lie down and I’ll clean you up and we can get going.”

“Yes, sir.”

The words sunk low in the pit of his stomach, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. No one had ever unsettled him this much. He couldn’t even call the sensation pleasant. It was nerve-wracking, like standing on pins and needles, constantly unsure what would happen next. He could finish the tattoo without a hitch and be on his way, or he could end up getting fucked on his own office desk, while his coworkers were in the next room. Who could say?

He sort of hated it. This kind of intense chemistry made for a good one-night-stand, but he wasn’t looking for that. Not anymore.

As he finished wiping down Chrollo’s back, he wondered what he _was_ looking for, and why it sort of felt like he had already found it.

The needle started to buzz and he let his thoughts drift. Shading the rest of the body wouldn’t take too long, and he could touch up some of the old work, to make sure it was all solid, opaque black. Then, if there was time, he could highlight the 13 with white, and detail it out to look as realistic as possible. He _really_ didn’t want a third session with Chrollo.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of strange-looking men enter the shop, greeting Knov and Knuckle. They must’ve been the first on his colleagues’ waiting list. One was muscular with a star and a teardrop painted on his face, and the other reminded him of the girl from The Ring, with long black hair and a frighteningly stoic expression.

There was something off about them, Kite noticed, as he watched their movements; something sort of dangerously volatile, like they could take off someone’s head with a flick of their finger. He made a mental note to avoid them if possible.

One of them caught his eye and winked at him. Kite quickly returned to his work, but looked up through the sheet of his hair to see them sizing Chrollo up, as well. He supposed it was just one of those nights where all the world’s most awkward clients came in at once.

Chrollo let out a contented sigh as the needle ran over his spine, a spot that should’ve had him gritting his teeth with pain. Right, he was a masochist. Fantastic.

Kite resolved that if Chrollo was in the mood for another piercing, he’d politely decline, and send him on his way. There were just too many layers of relationship stuff to deal with right now and he didn’t feel like indulging a pain kink while getting paid for it. Not again.

It took around two hours for him to complete the tattoo. The shop would close in a few minutes, so the timing was perfect, and it didn’t seem like he’d need a third session, unless something went wrong in the healing process.

Hopefully, nothing would go wrong. Kite wasn’t sure he could bear another one of these sexually charged sessions.

He handed Chrollo a mirror, so he could look at the finished piece. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s beautiful. Just like I imagined it.”

“I’m glad.”

“What do I owe you?”

“Ah, you’re good. You paid me too much last time.”

“Oh? I paid you what you deserved. You’re worth much more than what you charge.”

Kite felt the atmosphere shift, and he tensed up. “I don’t –”

Chrollo leaned in, nose-to-nose with Kite, his dark eyes alight with mirth. “I think you _do_.” His voice came out barely over a whisper, but it still felt like 1500 thread count sheets and fine wine, drenching Kite in sinful luxury.

His breath, fresh with mint and probably a hint of sandalwood, ghosted over Kite’s lips, and suddenly his back was pressed flush against the glass, its cool texture giving him goosebumps.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Kite looked past the rounded muscle of Chrollo’s shoulder, and – fuck. Ging, holding two coffees and a donut, was watching, an unreadable expression on his face. Kite felt his stomach twist up, but he was helpless, pinned to the wall by the full weight of Chrollo’s body.

“No, not at all. You can join us.”

“That’s okay, I’ll pass. Um, Kite, can we talk?” Ging asked hesitantly. He was hovering in the doorway, obviously not sure if it was safe to enter.

“Ah – of course. We’re done here.”

Chrollo fixed him with an unforgiving stare, but relented, backing away. “I’ll be sure to recommend you to everyone, Kite. You do _beautiful_ work.” He was gone in an instant, leaving only the smell of his cologne.

Kite took a breath and massaged his temples before beckoning Ging inside. “Let’s talk in my office.”

“Sure.”

Closing the door behind them, Kite leaned on his desk, arms folded. He wasn’t sure how to preface the discussion – he wasn’t even sure what kind of discussion they were having. He just knew his body was on edge with anxiety and apprehension.

Ging handed him the coffee soundlessly. There was a knit in his brow, so he must’ve been thinking hard about something, and Kite opted to let him find his words. He could explain if and when he was asked.

Perhaps a minute later, Ging opened his mouth, and Kite braced himself for whatever would come next.

“So… I was going to come here and ask you if you wanted to have a serious talk, about, uh, us, but now I’m feeling less confident about that whole topic.” Ging paused, staring at the floor. He seemed genuinely flustered, which was a first. “I, uh, know we weren’t official or anything, but I guess that still stung.”

Kite felt the knot in his stomach tighten with guilt. “I’m sorry. It must’ve been quite a shock.”

““It”?”

“Chrollo.”

“...Chrollo.” Ging repeated the name slowly, the sound rolling off his tongue with a sharp fervor.

“He’s a client. He came in a few weeks ago, for a back tattoo and a tongue piercing, and things sort of… went a different direction.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? When it happened? I mean, you don’t have to tell me everything that happens in your life, not even with other guys or whatever, but if it was serious enough to happen at your workplace, then maybe it was worth mentioning.”

“It’s not. Serious. It’s a really one-sided ordeal.”

“One-sided?” Ging swirled his drink in the mug, looking skeptical. 

“Yeah, he seems to really have a thing for me.”

“And you don’t have a thing for him?”

“Not –” Kite tried to put it into words. “I can’t say I’m not attracted to him, I am, but not in the same way I’m attracted to you.”

“Well, that’s a small grace. Or is it?”

“The math works out in your favor, I think.”

“Really.” Ging took a sip of his coffee. He grimaced. “I guess now’s not a good time for that talk or whatever. I’ll just go.” 

“We can still have that talk," Kite blurted out. He didn't want Ging to leave on such a bad note. "I mean, if - if you want. I’ve actually been thinking about it today.”

“About having a talk?”

“Yeah. To hash things out.”

Ging studied him, amber eyes narrowed. “Okay. You first.”

Kite cursed internally. He still didn’t feel like he knew how to explain things, but he had to say _something_. What ended up coming out was really lackluster. “I enjoy spending time with you. That’s the crux of it. And I would like to keep spending time with you, in whatever capacity.”

Ging scratched the back of his head, looking at the wall. “Well, I enjoy spending time with you too. Not just sexually, although that’s – you’re not lacking in that area,” he smiled wryly. “And we seem to get along really well. And you’re the first person in a long time that I’ve actually wanted to keep seeing. Truth be told, I want to get to know you better. In whatever capacity.”

Kite’s lips quirked. “In whatever capacity.”

“Yeah. So. I came here to ask if you wanted to try, this, whatever this is, more seriously, maybe make it, uh, exclusive, just to see if maybe we could, you know, make something out of it. But if you’re still – if you’re with other guys and you want it to stay that way, it’s fine, I don’t mind.”

“Would you really be okay with that?”

Ging’s jaw clenched. “…no.” Color drained from his face as he said it. “I would be jealous.”

“That’s very honest of you.”

“Whatever.” Ging scuffed the floor with his shoe. He seemed embarrassed. “I just. Never thought about it, so it was kind of surprising, and I didn’t expect… to, uh, care, you know?”

“Are you saying you didn’t expect anyone else to hit on me, ever?”

“Oh my god.”

Kite smiled, the anxiety in his stomach lessening a little with the lighter tone. “I’m honestly not with anyone else. Chrollo was sort of an anomaly, I’ve only seen him those two times, and both times he was the instigator.”

“I sort of figured. He invited me to join, so. _That_ kind of person.”

“And like I said, I do find him attractive, but in an incredibly superficial and temporary way.”

“…so?” Ging prompted, tapping a finger against the rim of his coffee mug. 

“I’m much more interested in pursuing things with you, than anyone else, right now. Including Chrollo.”

There, he'd said it, out loud and for the world to hear. Kite felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Ging heaved a long sigh. “I mean, if we _have_ to keep seeing each other, I _guess_ I could tolerate you hanging around my place more.”

“Even when you’re super busy with your stressful dinner parties?”

“Mm.”

“Okay, that’s a relief, because I know how much work those are, and how tired you are afterward.”

“It helps to have a companion to unwind with.”

“To loosen up your taut muscles and drink all your wine?”

“There’s no way I could’ve finished those strawberries by myself.”

“You’re lucky I was there to help.”

“I am. Lucky.”

///

“Hey, Kite, can we do some stretching?”

The shop was closed, and Killua was staying late with Kite to finish some inventory. Ging had gone home (but not before a session of energized and apologetic kisses in Kite’s office) and the rest of Kite’s colleagues were gone, as well.

Kite tossed a bag full of earrings onto the table tiredly. “If you want. You’re at an 8ga, right?”

“Yeah. I want maybe a 4ga or a 2ga, when it’s done.”

“Okay. I won’t ask you if you’re sure, since you know the risks, and I’ll just assume you have thought this over. When was the last time we did this? Last January?”

“I think so? Maybe December. It’s been a while, we should be good to go.”

“I’ll get the taper, go grab some jewelry.”

“Sure. Take it out of my paycheck.”

Kite prepped himself in the piecing room, pulling on some gloves and readying his tools. Killua came back with a set of jade earrings, 6ga, just a little bigger than the ones he had in now. It probably wouldn’t be too rough of a time, but Kite still grabbed his longest taper, out of affection for his apprentice.

“What did those two guys get from Knov and Knuckle?”

Killua hopped up on the chair. “Uh, the guy with the pink hair got a deck of cards on his shoulder, and the guy with black hair got a Japanese knife on his bicep.”

“Oh, cool. I’m sure Knov and Knuckle were happy to get back into tattooing after such a long break.”

“Yeah, they had fun, I think. But those two guys were weird.”

“Weird?”

"I don’t know how to explain it. They left with Chrollo, though.”

Kite snorted. Of course the three of them had hit it off. “I’m not surprised.”

“Hey, Kite, um…”

“Yes?”

“With… with stretching… what kind of lube is best? Again?”

“You want something that’s not water-based, because it evaporates too fast. Oil-based will help sustain the stretch.”

“But won’t some oil-based lubes hurt latex?”

“Yes, that’s true, but the actual hand-to-ear contact with the piercing while it’s stretching is so minimal, that’s not really a concern.”

“So if – so if you’re stretching with latex, ah, gloves, then which one is better?”

“I like to keep some Technicare on hand, it’s the best middle-ground, I think.”

“And how long should you wait before trying bigger plugs?”

“A few months, probably, or you risk tearing the tissue and getting a blowout.”

“But – what if, I heal really fast, you know, and my skin is really… stretchy. Like, half-an-hour? An hour?”

“Killua, you’d rip your earlobe open if you kept changing gauges every half hour –” Kite blinked and sat back in his chair when he grasped the subtext. He wanted to laugh, but also leave the shop and never come back. “Oh.” Was all he could say.

Killua flushed bright red and turned away, his hands gripping the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Are… you and Gon intimate?”

“No! I mean, not yet, but I. I want to. Be.” Killua was hiding behind his messy mop of hair. Kite popped out his earrings slowly, prepping his lobes with lube for the new jewelry.

“If you want my advice, take your time, and don’t expect it to be great right off the bat. It’ll be uncomfortable for a while. You need practice, and, uh, experience. For that to really start going the right way.”

“…would you still recommend Technicare?”

Kite shook his head and started inserting the taper, watching Killua’s face for any signs of pain. “No. In that case, a water-based lube might be better. You can always keep adding more if it dries too fast.”

“Okay.”

“Are you doing all right? How does it feel?”

“Weird. It doesn’t hurt, though.”

“We’re almost done. Just a little more on the taper, and I’ll put the new jewelry in.”

“’Kay.”

Kite glanced at the jade earrings as he started working them in. “I’ve never seen you wear green before. I thought for sure you’d grab those lavender ones.”

Killua made a face. “Green is okay, sometimes, I guess.”

“Yeah? That’s funny, I was thinking about running for office and growing sloppy facial hair.”

“Dad, _please_.”

“ _Don’t call me dad_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Taper** : a tool used to stretch piercings; looks like [this](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a3/Body_Piercing_Taper_Set.jpg); the longer it is, the gentler the stretch will be  
>  **Blowout** : when you stretch a piercing too fast/rough and the tissue turns inside out (it's gross don't look it up lmao)  
>  **Technicare** : a product some piercers use to help stretch piercings
> 
> [This](http://photos2.demandstudios.com/DM-Resize/photos.demandstudios.com/getty/article/103/240/178716920_XS.jpg?w=1200&h=630&crop_min=1&keep_ratio=1) is sort of the size I imagine Killua's plugs to be (somewhere between a 4ga and a 0ga, I think). 
> 
> Thank you to Fan for your amazing GingKite art (I hope you liked the "confrontation"!), and as always, thanks to Kayla for beta-ing this for me and spending the weekend with me <3


	10. Hyacinth Hues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! This bad boy is 9000 words long, so get ready with popcorn or something. 
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this last chapter to Kayla, Fan and Kaitlin, some people who have helped generate ideas and tailor the plot of this story into something presentable! Couldn't have done it without you guys ❤

“Okay, Mrs. White, in the conservatory, with the candlestick.” Kite fished around in his box of noodles for another piece of orange chicken. Ging gave him an arrogant smirk and shook his head.

“Nope.”

Mrs. White’s card was flashed to him for a second.

“Are you kidding? I was so sure it was her. It’s always the elderly.”

Ging snorted into his rice bowl. “I didn’t know you practiced ageism.”

“It’s my prejudice of choice.”

They were sitting on the floor of Kite’s living room, playing Clue with some Chinese takeout from Ging’s favorite restaurant. The TV offered peaceful background noise, and the lights were dimmed down so they could relax after a long day. Ging had attended a conference in the next city over and Kite had stayed late finishing a client. Now, they were lounging around in sweatpants, just taking a breather.

Ging rolled the die and moved his token. He looked up at Kite with a contemplative expression. “Hey, what if I said tonight was the last time I could have sex with you?”

Kite’s chopsticks missed his mouth and a piece of chicken dropped into his lap. “Sorry?”

“Not for forever, but like, for a while.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Ah – it depends on the reason. If you were leaving town or if you were too tired or if someone else swept you off your feet and you were breaking up with me – are you breaking up with me?”

Ging picked up the chicken and popped it into his mouth. “No, no. I was just thinking about something.”

“…are you going to tell me what it is?”

“Not yet.”

Kite stared at him, nonplussed. “I mean. It’s not the end of the world. I spend time with you for more than your dick.”

“Really?”

“Contrary to what you may believe, you are not your penis.”

“That warms my heart.”

“I didn’t know people in government had those. Is it a new mandate for senators?”

“No. If it were, Pariston wouldn’t be so awful.” Ging looked over his notepaper for a second. “Mr. Green, in the conservatory, with the candlestick.”

“Hm, not quite.” Kite held up Mr. Green’s card. Ging scowled and crossed something off his paper. Setting his cards down, Kite laid down on the floor, stretching his lanky limbs out. They’d been playing for an hour and he was starting to cramp.

Ging was on top of him in a flash, bright-eyed and smiling, and he laced their fingers together, pinning Kite’s hands to the floor.  “Sorry, you just looked so good on the floor like that.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Kite wrapped his arms around Ging’s waist, burying his nose in the crook of his neck. He was starting to get accustomed to the familiarity of Ging’s scent, of his body weight, of the texture of his lips and his messy hair. It was all becoming a comforting part of his daily routine. “But I have to say, I look good anywhere, any time.”

“Oh, I’d never imply that you _didn’t_ look good. Just that I’m easily persuaded by your tantalizing form.”

“Big words, from you. Did you learn that in a political science class?”

“When I first saw you, I knew I had to look up words in the dictionary to describe how I felt, and how mystically breathtaking you are.”

“You were completely plastered when you first saw me.”

“You transcended my drunkenness.”

Kite let his head fall against the floor, laughing. “That’s awful and slimy.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

They studied each other for a moment. Kite noticed, for the umpteenth time, how long and thick Ging’s eyelashes were, and how saturated his irises were. In this lighting, they were deep amber, with hints of chocolate and speckles of gold. His nose was petite and upturned at the tip. His lips were light pink and pillowy – almost always soft, unless he’d been drinking. His eyebrows, highly arched and by no means neatly plucked, framed his face nicely, completing the picture.

The tiny smile lines around Ging’s eyes creased a little. He pressed a kiss to Kite’s nose, then his forehead, and then his cheeks and his jaw and the soft skin of his throat. Gentle fingers tugged at Kite’s shirt collar so he could continue trailing kisses down Kite’s shoulder. Every kiss melted away some of the day’s anxieties and Kite exhaled, rubbing circles into the small of Ging’s back.

When Ging’s teeth grazed his collarbone, he raised an eyebrow, waiting to see which direction they were headed. After such a strange conversation earlier, he wasn’t sure what exactly to expect, and when Ging started sucking on a particularly sensitive part of his neck, Kite’s back arched off the ground a little, pressing their bodies closer together.

That would definitely leave a bruise.

Ging sat up on his haunches suddenly. Kite opened his mouth in question, but Ging didn’t give him the chance to speak, scooping him off the floor and carrying him, bridal-style, into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

Ging set him down on the bed, Kite’s hair splaying out across the sheets. There was just enough light streaming through the window to see Ging taking off his own shirt. The broad expanse of his skin was inviting, and Kite rested a palm against his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat flutter at his touch. Kite smiled despite himself. Ging bumped their noses together and kissed him tenderly, brushing Kite’s unruly hair out of his face.

When their lips parted, Kite was left breathless, and he motioned for a quick break so he could slip his shirt off and toss it somewhere in the dimness of the room. Ging let out a hum of appreciation, stroking Kite’s stomach and sides, and occasionally scraping at the skin with his blunt nails.

Ging’s lips brushed his ear as he whispered, “Roll over for me?”

Kite obeyed, turning so that he was facedown, resting his head on his pillow. He felt Ging drawing patterns on his back with the tips of his fingers. He placed kisses all over Kite’s shoulder blades and dragged his tongue down the length of his spine and tasted the dimples of his lower back. When Ging pulled at his pants, he lifted his hips up, allowing them to be removed. The air in his apartment was chilly compared to Ging’s body on top of his, but he figured that would be remedied soon.

He was pleasantly surprised when strong hands gripped at the flesh of his ass, kneading it slowly. A heated desire rippled through the base of Kite’s abdomen. He wished he had a mirror or something so he could watch what was happening, but he settled for the feeling of Ging’s teeth leaving tiny bite marks on the backs of his thighs.

“How did you know I showered?” Kite mumbled into his pillow, eyes half-lidded with arousal.

“You smelled like pine.” Ging’s voice was muffled and his breath sent goosebumps over Kite’s skin. “Here, move up, like this.”

Kite let himself be directed, ass now in the air and resting his body weight on his knees and elbows. Those same strong hands spread him open, and the distinct heat and wetness of a tongue lapped against his entrance, tentative and careful. Kite let out a contented sigh – permission to continue. Ging took the cue, tracing shapes across the puckered skin and lavishing him with sloppy kisses. His tongue dipped inside, hot and slick, and Kite shivered, gripping the sheets.

Kite heard a bottle _pop_ and felt something harder massaging him. Ging slid two fingers in right off the bat, starting up a leisurely rhythm, scissoring Kite apart. A third finger was soon added, and when Ging brushed against his prostate, Kite moaned quietly.

“You feel ready?” Ging asked, voice hoarse.

“Mmm. Please.”

That was all Ging needed. He kicked his sweatpants and boxers off, tearing a condom wrapper between his teeth and applying it quickly. Another coat of lube on Kite’s entrance and he could feel the tip of Ging’s cock pressing up against him.

It was unbearably slow; Ging took his time, probably on purpose, to tease him, but Kite relished it anyway. Once Ging was seated fully inside him, he leaned down to kiss the back of Kite’s neck. His breath was hot, just barely caressing Kite’s skin, and he murmured words of appreciation into Kite’s ear. Holding onto Kite’s shoulder for support and pulled out for a second before pushing back in, his movements smooth and calculated. There was no indiscriminate need this time – it was much more intimate than anything they’d done before, and Kite found he rather enjoyed the intensity of it.

The fullness and weight of being penetrated was beyond satisfying. Kite rocked back against Ging’s thrusts, face still buried in his pillowcase, swearing lewdly whenever Ging hit him in the right spot, which was often. He’d memorized the angles, by now, and he knew exactly where to aim and exactly how hard to fuck Kite. Kite had to hand it to him, he was a fast learner. 

Skin-on-skin noises filled the room, subtle and erotic, and with every thrust, Kite was a little closer to losing it, hair splayed out over the bed like a blanket and lips parted with his incessant moaning.

“G – Ging –”

Intuition as good as ever, Ging’s hand reached around to grip his cock, fingers still wet with lube. Kite was panting, by this point, and no sooner had Ging started pumping him with when the heat bubbled over and white hot pleasure blossomed. Kite shuddered with orgasm, gasping Ging’s name over and over again, fingers grasping at the sheets desperately. Ging stroked Kite to completion, until he had no more to give, and was ready to collapse against the ruined bedsheets.

“You make – such nice – sounds when you’re – cumming,” Ging managed between labored breaths.

Kite’s body was still throbbing with thick, weighted pleasure, when he felt Ging grip his hips tightly, thrusts becoming arrhythmic. He let out a low groan, and Kite could _hear_ the orgasm oozing in his voice – it made the hairs on his body stand on end, and he almost wanted to go again, because heat was pooling in his stomach once more.

“ _Fuck_ ,”

“Fuck.” Kite agreed.

Ging threw away the soiled condom and crawled back into bed. Kite curled up against his chest, avoiding the wet patch that was undoubtedly sticky and cold by now, and they fell asleep in a tangle of limbs and Kite’s hair.

///

The first thing Kite noticed when he rolled over in the morning was the distinct soreness in his ass. It twinged with pain every time he moved his legs. Ging _really_ hadn’t held any of his punches last night. There was also a heaviness in his muscles that weighed him down with sated contentment. It was incredibly satisfying. He settled onto his stomach, face nuzzled into the pillow and wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets.

Everything smelled like Ging. The sheets, his comforter, the pillows – it all carried the soft scent of earth and sandalwood and his cologne. Kite inhaled deeply. He cracked an eye open to confirm his suspicions: Ging wasn’t lying next to him. The banging noises from the kitchen were a dead giveaway, though, and if he focused himself, he could detect the enticing aroma of breakfast foods on the air, floating through the open doorway. There was also a brand new bouquet of flowers on his bedside table. The old ones had died long ago, but apparently Ging had taken it upon himself to replace them with more of the same.

There was a note attached to the flowers. Leaning in, Kite could just barely make out Ging’s messy scrawl.

_For the man in my life._

Kite smiled. What a thoughtful gesture.

He sat up, hair in tangles and caught in his navel piercing, blinking the blinding sunlight out of his eyes. With the patience of a piercer who has already seen anything and everything go wrong, he began unwinding his hair from the jewelry, being careful not to tug too hard. Hair was easy – when piercings got caught in sheets or clothing, that’s when things got complicated.

When the problem was taken care of, he swung his legs out of bed, moving slowly to avoid aggravating anything. Perhaps a cold shower would be better this morning. Hot showers stung more.

Peeking through the doorway, he saw Ging with a set of sheets wrapped around his waist and dragging on the floor, swaying to the beat of some television show’s opening on Netflix. He flipped an omelet in a frying pan with an expertise that surprised Kite. Maybe he’d been lying when he said he couldn't cook? 

He flipped it again, and this time, it almost missed the pan, Ging cursing loudly as he fumbled to save it. Never mind. 

Kite disappeared into the bathroom, piling his hair on top of his head and turning the water on. He washed off the remains of a romantic night in, finding sticky patches on the backs of his thighs that he hadn’t noticed were there. Gross. Briefly, he cleaned his piercings, and shut the water off.

He dried himself and found a clean pair of sweatpants. They hung loose and didn’t irritate anything, which was a blessing, and he still had some time before he needed to get to work. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he noticed his complexion was a little ruddy, and his pores felt congested. It had been a few weeks since he last treated himself to some skin care. Kite glanced through the doorways into the kitchen to check on breakfast. Ging was spinning a spatula in his hands as he stared out the window, but there were still things cooking on the stove, so it must not be done yet.

Kite rummaged around in his cabinets for a face mask and pulled his flyaway hairs back with a headband.

The mask was minty, cooling his skin as he applied it. It was supposed to draw out the impurities from his pores and dry any pimples he had forming. In the past, he’d found it to be extremely effective, and always felt refreshed after a good deep cleanse like this one.

“Hey, I made breakfast – what are you doing?” Ging’s 5 o’clock shadow was more like a midnight shadow, at this point, but his eyes were bright and lively, like they always were.

“Face mask. Want to try?” Kite offered the tub of product.

“And turn myself green?”

“It feels nice. You should shave first, though.”

Ging checked himself in the mirror, rubbing his fingers against the stubble. “Is it that bad?”

“You look like a Wookie.”

“Thanks.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes as Ging shaved – using Kite’s razor, which he only ever needed for tattoos and special occasions, since he was naturally clean-shaven – and Kite waited for the face mask to set. He started to comb his hair absently, fashioning it into a presentable French braid for work.

“Okay, so how do I do this?” Ging fumbled with the jar, dipping a finger into the mixture and sniffing it experimentally.

“Just smear it on your face. Avoid your eyes.”

“How thick?”

“Mm, you shouldn’t see skin.” Kite laughed when a dollop of product caught on Ging’s eyebrow and he struggled to distribute it more evenly. As soon as Kite's lips parted, he regretted it, because the mask had dried and now it was cracking around his mouth, flaking to the ground in a hail of green dust.

“Is that normal?” Ging looked horrified as he watched.

“Yeah, it dries and pulls dirt out of your skin with it. You’re not supposed to move your face, but,” Kite gestured helplessly and ducked his face into the sink to rinse it, green sludge coming off on his hands in clumps. He straightened up and admired himself in the mirror. His skin felt refreshed and rejuvenated - more than worth the mess in the sink. Patting his face dry, he moisturized, and pressed a chaste kiss to Ging’s minty cheek as he left the bathroom. “Thanks for the flowers.”

Ging’s mask was starting to dry, so he could only grunt in response, but his eyes were smiling.

Kite settled himself on the couch with a plate of eggs and bacon. Ging had been watching _Pretty Little Liars_ again, and Kite resigned himself to it for the time being.

Things were just warming up with the murder mystery when strong arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind. He was overwhelmed with mint – Ging must’ve brushed his teeth too – when Ging’s breath grazed his ear as he whispered.

"How do I look?" 

Craning his neck to look up at Ging's face, Kite narrowed his eyes in mock scrutiny. "Oh no, you look so much worse." 

Ging beamed down at him and kissed his forehead. In reality, his tan skin was glowing, and he looked much younger without the facial hair. Kite rather liked it. "This feels great, why have I never tried smearing a green fruit smoothie on my face before?" 

"Skin care is feminized and marketed exclusively to women."

"True. Hey, I have something to ask you.”

“Sure.” Kite said, voice muffled through a mouthful of omelet.

Ging clambered onto the couch next to him, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. Kite recognized it immediately as the sketch he’d made on their fishing trip of the Andromeda constellation.

“Do you think you could tattoo this on me?”

Kite chewed his food more slowly, eyes wide. He swallowed. “Are you serious?”

Ging scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. I really like it, and I’ve been thinking of getting a tattoo for a while, and I’d like you to be the one to do it.”

“And the design?”

“I don’t know. I just really like it. The boar, the stars, the whole thing. I think it would make a good tattoo. You’re a great artist.”

Kite set his plate down and took the paper, glancing over the drawing. It was sloppy and by no means ready to be tattooed. Even so, he could already see the color palette blooming in his mind, and the tiny details of the piece that would pull it together would be so easy to add.

“I – I mean, if you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. What better time than now?” Ging gave him a sheepish smile and knocked their knees together.

“Okay. I’ll do some edits to the design when I go into work so it’s cleaner, and, uh, if there’s no walk-ins, we can do it later today.”

“Thanks.” Ging looked like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it, taking Kite’s empty plate and bringing it to the sink. “Sorry it’s not your name on my ass, I know you were looking forward to that.” He called over his shoulder.

Kite threw a napkin at him, grinning.

///

Spin and Knov were already in the shop, going over some paperwork. Kite was infinitely grateful that his coworkers could offer more help with clerical stuff like that, because after two weeks of handling it independently, he’d been getting burned out.

“Hey, Kite.”

“Hey, Spin. Knov. Settled back in yet?”

Knov sipped some coffee, nodding. “Still experiencing some jet-lag, but nothing too terrible.”

“Any appointments today?”

“Yeah, I came in early because I’m booked solid through five.”

It was to be expected. Knov had a loyal clientele, and after being gone for such a long time, he would be spending the next few days playing catch-up.

“How early is early?”

“Eight.”

Kite whistled, retrieving some sketch paper from his office. He couldn’t imagine waking up that early in the morning to get a tattoo. It would be the pinnacle of human suffering. Still, when you wanted art from a specific artist, you had to make sacrifices. Kite took a seat next to Knov and started fixing Ging’s design. There would be a small chunk of free time between two appointments around three, and he was hoping he could slot Ging in there somewhere, but it was more likely they’d get to his tattoo sometime that night.

“Knov, do you know where the Copics went?”

“They’re in my room.”

The door was propped open, and Kite spotted the markers on an end table by Spin’s tattooing chair. Hushed murmurs in the distance caught his attention and he could hear some distinctive sniffling that had to be Knuckle. When he stepped back into the hallway, he saw a familiar head of purple hair through the door to Knuckle’s room, and what looked like a box of tissues in Knuckle’s hand. Before he turned back to the reception area, he caught sight of an incredibly intimate gesture between them – his chest swelled with happiness for his friend, and he couldn’t contain a smile.

“You saw them?” Knov’s spindly fingers were splayed out over an elaborate drawing of a dragon, winding through flames and trees. His client was hovering over him, eyes peeled for anything they didn’t like. That was the worst.

“Yeah, did I miss something this morning?” Kite sat back down, starting to color in his sketch.

“Only everything. They started tossing confessions back and forth, then there was a waterwork show, of course, and they’ve been locked in there ever since.” Spin rested her chin on her hands. She sighed dreamily.

“Took them long enough. Is Killua not coming in today?”

“He might stop by later, but I told him he didn’t have to. Thought he deserved a break after two weeks of hauling ass.”

The day slipped through his fingers like sand. One of his appointments, a young blonde man, asked for a realistic eye with a red iris, which he was happy to do. The man’s friend wanted a stethoscope on his chest – Spin offered to do it and turn it into a new-school character, to add some personality. Both tattoos turned out nicely and the pair left satisfied. Another client wanted an awful set of scars on her arm covered up with a full sleeve, and though she was quite timid, she was extremely kind. Kite found himself quite fond of her and even managed to set up a lunch date with her later in the week, to hear more of her melodious voice.

Around six, Kite texted Ging to come on in, so they could start. He got a reply instantly –

_On my way, with sushi._

Kite chuckled. He hoped there was enough to share with everyone, but then, Spin was due to leave in a few minutes and Knuckle wasn’t technically working. Knov had already departed, looking harrowed after his busy day.

He took one last look at his sketch. The constellation framed the boar better, now, and he’d added plenty of shading to make it look like an oil-on-canvas portrait. It would look great on Ging’s skin, especially with his skin tone to add some yellow hues into the palette. Kite found himself pretty excited.

It wasn’t long before the door chimed again, and Ging, carrying a Costco-sized to-go box of sushi, entered.

“Hey – I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got one of everything.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t have.”

“But I did! I was hoping if I got tattooed on a full stomach, it wouldn’t be as bad. That’s what the internet said.”

“Well, that’s sort of right.” Kite accepted the box and sat down at their work desk, clearing away some of the papers and other debris. Ging remained standing, hands deep in his pockets, jiggling his leg. There was a crease in his brow that wasn’t usually there. Come to think of it, his entire body was tense, and as Kite watched in fascination, it became obvious that Ging was absolutely terrified.

He was about to comment, but Ging spoke first. “I’m actually too nervous to eat anything.”

“Do you want some water?”

“No, thanks. That’ll just make it worse.” Ging scuffed his foot against the floor, laughing nervously. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I mean, I’ve had scrapes and bruises and shit, but never… intentionally.”

Kite nodded in understanding as he popped a sushi roll into his mouth. The flavor was satisfying and rich. “We have some preliminary stuff to do first, so you have some time to think about this and make sure it’s what you really want.”

“Cool. How’s the sushi?”

“It’s exquisite. Are you sure you don’t want any?”

“No, no. It’s fine. I really can’t even think about food right now.”

“Okay. Have a seat, take deep breaths.”

Ging hesitated, but pulled out a chair and sat, leg still jiggling. His eyes followed the sushi as it traveled to Kite’s mouth. They were silent for a few moments before Ging blurted out, “Does it hurt?”

Kite chewed thoughtfully. The flat answer was yes, but that wasn’t really what Ging needed to hear. “It depends on where you want it. Where do you want it?”

“…I hadn’t even considered that. Where do you think it would look good?”

“The shape makes it suitable for a forearm or bicep. Maybe your shoulder blade.”

Ging accidentally kicked Kite’s leg under the table and mumbled an apology as he thought. “Would it be too mainstream if I got it on my bicep?”

“Something being mainstream isn’t a reason not to get it. If that’s where you want it, that’s where you should put it.”

“Mm.”

Kite pursed his lips together with empathy. The first tattoo was always the worst, and tattoo virgins had the hardest time preparing themselves for the unknown. He reached out a hand and ran it through Ging’s messy hair. “I’ll take care of you. But remember, you don’t have to get it if you’re not comfortable, or if the idea scares you.”

“Do you have the design?”

Kite handed over his finished sketch, and the color drained from Ging’s face. “Is it that bad?”

Ging shook his head. “It’s beautiful. Damn. Now I definitely can’t back out. I really want this on my body.”

After another roll of sushi, Kite closed the box up and took Ging’s hand. “We’ll set you up with the stencil and see how you feel about it then, okay?”

The process was routine: trace the design onto transfer paper, wipe Ging’s arm off and shave the baby hairs that covered his right bicep, and press the stencil on. It came out clean and clear – the purple ink hadn’t smeared at all, and Kite handed Ging a mirror to check the placement.

“It’s – yeah, it’s perfect like that,” Ging murmured, flexing his arm muscles to test the movement of the piece.

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Let’s do this.”

“Okay. Sit here, prop your arm up on the armrest, I’ll get the tools ready.”

Kite busied himself with the autoclave and pouring the ink. From behind him, he heard the glass door slide open, and Spin popped her head in.

“Oh, that looks good. Can’t wait to see the finished product. Knuckle and Shoot already left, so I’m off for the night. See you tomorrow!” She waved goodbye. Kite hummed in acknowledgement, glancing over to see how Ging was doing. He was paler than usual and now both his legs were twitching to an imaginary beat. At least he wasn’t hyperventilating. Kite had had clients pass out before needle even hit skin, and it was always a mess.

When everything was ready to go, Kite shot Ging a meaningful look, and Ging swallowed thickly. “Is it time?”

“It’s time.”

“Okay. Uh, what should I…?”

“Just sit still, and try to keep your arm from shaking. It’s imperative that you stay still, or the lines could be shaky.”

“…”

Ging was avoiding eye contact, now, choosing instead to stare at the ink caps on the tool tray. Kite cupped Ging’s face in his hands, redirecting his gaze, and stroked his gloved thumb over Ging’s tanned cheeks. He put as much gentleness as he could into the touch and checked one last time. “You’re sure?”

Ging nuzzled into his hands and kissed each of Kite’s fingers slowly. He seemed to be gearing himself up. “I’m sure.”

Kite smiled, despite himself, and nodded. “Let me know if you need a break, or if you feel sick.” He pressed a kiss to Ging’s forehead and took a seat in his artists’ chair, starting up the machine.

The familiar buzzing filled the air. It comforted Kite, and his hands felt at ease with the needle in his hands, but Ging instantly seized up, gripping the arm rest to stop his arm from trembling. Kite rested his hand on Ging’s bicep and added some pressure, silently insisting on stillness.

When Ging took a few deep breaths and stopped moving, Kite sketched out the first line, in one of the stars. It was only a tiny mark, and he pulled the needle back, to see how his client was doing. Ging’s face was scrunched up, like he was evaluating whether or not he was actually in pain. That was normal. Kite added another line, and when it became apparent that Ging wasn’t going to break down in tears or pass out, he started working more quickly, tracing out the constellation in full.

“It’s… not what I thought it would be.”

“Yeah?”

“I thought it would sting. It feels more like what I’d imagine a scalpel to be like.”

“Is that good?”

“It sucks. But it’s tolerable.”

Kite offered a look of condolence before starting in on the boar. There was a lot of detail in its fur, so this would take longer, but he wanted it to be done perfectly. No room for mistakes in tattooing and especially not on something like this. Kite found personal value in this design, _and_ in the person getting it. It had to be some of his best work.

The line art alone took over an hour. When Kite finally switched off his machine, Ging had relaxed considerably, and he was watching the process with wide eyes.

“I’m ready to start coloring. Do you want something to eat or drink?”

“No, we can keep going. I feel amazing.”

“That’s the endorphins talking. Hm, okay, maybe another two hours, and it’s done.”

The palette Kite had chosen was filled with dark and cool, with heavy shadows and muted colors. The boar would be realistically shaded, and there would be hints of a watercolor galaxy in the background, in purples and blues and reds. The stars in the constellation would be highlighted to make them pop against Ging’s darker skin and the boar’s tusks would receive the same treatment.

Kite was excited just thinking about it. He had to pace himself as he started blending colors, but this was the most fun he’d had doing a tattoo since Shoot’s phoenix.

Every now and then, Kite flexed his fingers and stretched his back out, to keep from getting too stiff. Any discomfort could throw off the perfection of the piece. Ging’s head was resting back on the chair, and his eyes were closed, almost as if he were asleep. Coloring is almost always less painful than the line art – the bundle of needles distributes pain more evenly.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finished, but the crick in his neck told him it’d been a while. Kite sat back in his chair and gave the piece one final onceover.

It was balanced; the lights and the darks contrasted nicely, the colors were vibrant enough to be visible but not overpowering, and the boar looked like it could walk off Ging’s skin at any moment. Kite grinned. This was something to be proud of.

“Is it…?”

“It is.”

Kite held up a mirror. Ging’s jaw went slack for a moment, before he smiled widely, rotating his arm a little to loosen up the muscles. “It’s perfect. Holy shit.”

“You can take a picture in a few hours. Let me put some ointment on it and wrap it up, for now.”

Kite smeared on some protective products that would keep bacteria away from the open wound and dressed it with a bandage. He explained the basics of aftercare as he worked.

“I’m so lucky, I get a professional tattooer to take care of my new ink for the coming weeks.”

“You think I’m going to clean this for you every day? Think again.” Kite snorted, putting his tools away.

Ging pouted. “You mean you don’t want to rub ointment on my arm twice a day? Not romantic?”

“Hardly.”

“Hey, since I didn’t die, I was wondering something.”

“Mm?”

“What was that – you mentioned it a while ago, after the first time we slept together, about a piercing?”

“A piercing?”

“Yeah. On my, uh, dick.”

Kite blinked. He dimly remembered the conversation, and dawning realization broke out over his face. “Is that what you meant when you said that was the last time we could have sex for a while?”

Ging flushed red, but he didn’t look away. “Yeah. I thought about it, and I figured if I could get through a tattoo, I can get through something like that, too.”

Rubbing his temples, Kite considered it. “I mean, I know _I_ would love it, but it’s not about me. Is it something _you_ actually want? It’ll put you out of commission for a while and be a lot of work to take care of.”

“That’s okay. I feel like taking a chance.”

“I have to tell you, as your friend and your artist, that getting a tattoo and a piercing at the same time puts you at higher risk for complications, because your body will have to fend off infection from two different places, and it’s easier for people to slack on aftercare.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’ll be fine.”

“If you’re absolutely sure, let’s go to the piercing room, then.”

Ging shoved his hands in his pockets and chuckled. “Not going to try to talk me out of this one?”

“I have a personal interest in your dick getting pierced.” Kite shrugged, leading them through the parlor.

“I bet you do.”

As Kite prepared the piercing tools, he gestured for Ging to take off his pants. “What was it exactly that you wanted? A Prince Albert? Ampallang?”

“I don’t know what any of those are. You called it a triple something.”

“…a triple ladder? That’s three, through the frenum.”

“Sure. I trust you with my dick.”

“Maybe not such a good idea. If I had my way, you’d have a PA, a dolphin, a triple ladder _and_ a lorum.”

Ging just shook his head, unzipping his pants and stepping out of them. “What can I expect, pain-wise?”

“Like you said, if you managed a tattoo, you’ll manage this. The tissue is really thin and most people compare it to an ear piercing. It just looks scary, that’s all.” Kite picked out the jewelry – straight barbells, for easy healing, and autoclaved them.

“I’m still running a crazy adrenaline high, so sorry if I seem jittery.”

“It’s been hours, Ging, your body should be shutting down by now.”

“I have fantastic endurance.”

“I know.” Kite smirked, kissing Ging’s jaw as he reached into his boxers.

“Woah – is it okay if I pop a boner? Will that ruin it?”

“It won’t make a difference. Feel free. Just try not to twitch while I make the markings.” Kite leaned down, perhaps closer than was professionally necessary, and his breath ghosted across Ging’s skin. He measured out the placement and drew in the purple guidelines. Focusing on getting the angles right was difficult when all he wanted to do was press kisses to Ging’s stomach and blow him into next Tuesday, but he was nothing if not disciplined.

“Okay, I’ll clamp the first one with the forceps, and it’ll be over in a second.”

“I trust you.” Ging reiterated. He was staring pointedly at the wall, and Kite guessed that even during an adrenaline high, seeing a needle go through one’s genitals was a little much for most people.

Kite’s chest swelled. They had obviously trusted each other to some extent, up until this point, but it had never been so tangible and so carnal. Ging was completely vulnerable and he was allowing Kite to pierce him in what was arguably the most intimate area of his body. It was humbling, in a way.

“Ready? In three, two, one –” Kite slid the needle through the tissue firmly and swiftly. Ging let out a sharp breath, but didn’t move, and Kite screwed on the jewelry.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, either.”

“See? Two more, and I’ll clean you up.”

The next two went just as fast, and though Ging’s reactions were a little stronger each time as his adrenaline wore off, he took it like a champion. Kite felt a rush of affection for him. They were more compatible than he’d ever thought possible.

“Done! How’s it look?”

Ging took the mirror, scrutinizing the new additions to his body. “It’s starting to sting like a bitch, but you do good work, as always. I can’t believe I did this.”

“Let me grab some saline so you can clean it later.”

“I have to clean this tonight too? Jesus, Kite, it hurts, I’m not gonna be able to whack off for _weeks_ –”

Kite laughed, making his way into the storage room. He heard some rattling and a stuttering gasp right before he opened the door, and upon entering, cursed his too-slow reflexes. He got an eyeful of Killua’s muscular arms pinning tanned skin against a shelving unit, and in the split second that he watched, he saw thrusting motions shake the shelf. There were already bags of extra supplies dotting the floor.

He slapped a hand over his eyes. Killua reacted with a shout, and Kite didn’t have to see him to know he was flushed bright red, both from embarrassment and from arousal. He didn’t know Gon well enough to guess how he was taking it, but a small snuffle made it sound like he was stifling a laugh.

He managed to choke out his request. “Killua, just – just hand me some saline.”

“Kite, oh my god, fuck –”

“Saline!”          

“Holy _shit_ –”

A bottle was shoved into his hand and Kite made a hasty retreat, the door slamming behind him. He uncovered his eyes and looked at the ceiling with exasperation. It offered no answers nor comfort. The image was still burned into his retinas. He supposed he should’ve seen it coming, since his recent “talk” with Killua had revealed as much, but it was one of those things you could never quite prepare for. Obviously they would need to have another talk about appropriate workplace behavior.

The bottle was slippery in his hands, and he looked down in horror to see that it was not, in fact, saline, but a bottle of lubricant, slick with its contents dripping down the side. Kite dropped the bottle like a hot potato.

He hurried to the sink in the break room and started to wash everything off. There wasn’t enough soap in the _world_ to remedy this problem.

The whole exchange must’ve taken longer than he thought, because Ging came wandering in, dressed in only his boxers, a puzzled look on his face.

“Everything okay? Out of saline or something?”

“Yeah, and we’re also out of literally everything else that happened to be in the storage room,” Kite muttered under his breath, still scrubbing at his hands.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. It’s fine, I can make you a sea salt solution when we get home. Which will be now. Let’s go.”

“What’s the rush, babe? I was thinking, since we’re alone, maybe we could –”

“We’re definitely _not_ alone.” Kite’s thunderous expression sliced through the suggestive flirtation in the air, and he dragged them back to his office.

He tidied up his desk and prepared the shop for closing while he waited for Ging to get dressed. As they were leaving, Kite’s head finally cleared up enough to process something, and he squeezed Ging’s hand lightly.

“Did you call me babe?”

“Do you not want me to?”

“Hm, if I can call you daddy.”

“…you’re joking.”

“Am I?”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Kite only offered a lopsided smile, and he squeezed Ging’s hand again.

///

They ended up at Kite’s apartment again, stumbling through the front door in a fit of laughter about something they’d seen in the parking lot.

“I can’t believe dogs can actually do that –”

“But did you see its owner? How he was yelling –”

It took a few minutes for them to settle down, and they curled up on the couch together, Kite resting his head on Ging’s chest as they flicked on the television. Ging played with his hair while they went back to watching _Pretty Little Liars_. At first, it was gentle petting, tousling his bangs and running his hands down the length of it, but then he got a focused look on his face, and started twiddling with his fingers. Kite could just barely see out of the corner of his eye the beginnings of a braid starting to form. It was sloppy and uneven, but as Ging progressed down through the literal feet of hair Kite had to offer, it took a nicer shape.

Kite’s heart fluttered and he was glad their positions weren’t reversed. As it was, the steady rhythm of Ging’s heartbeat was comforting, and Kite almost wanted to fall asleep. His internal alarm clock interrupted him and he sat up abruptly, glancing at Ging’s bandaged arm. “It’s about time to remove that.”

“You’re the boss.”

Ging peeled off the medical tape, wincing a little at some of the carnage underneath: blood and ink had soaked into the gauze and blood plasma coated his skin, a little shiny under the warm lighting of Kite’s living room. He made a disgusted face.

“Looks good. Let it breathe for a little while, then wash it off and reapply the ointment.”

“I’m not supposed to re-bandage it?”

“Only if you’re doing something that might compromise its safety. It needs to air out.”

“…I can think of a few things that might.”

Kite snickered. “Really? You’re pretty much impotent for the next few weeks.”

Ging shot him a dangerous look, full of loathing and disbelief. “Don’t test me. My mouth works just fine.”

“Is that a threat?” Kite teased, flicking Ging’s nose with his finger.

“It’s a promise.”

“I literally shoved three barbells through your dick a few hours ago. I know what you can and can’t do with it.”

“I’m a politician. I don’t make empty promises.”

“Well, actually –” Kite didn’t get to finish his snide remark about politicians being a breed of people who do nothing _but_ make empty promises, because Ging he pulled Kite onto his lap, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. His thumbs rubbed against Kite’s hip bones for a moment before one hand slipped down Kite’s pants, grabbing his ass possessively.

“I promise I can make you scream my name, even without using my cock.”

Kite swallowed. Ging’s face was deadly serious, and Kite believed him. He laid out an invitation anyway. “Let’s see about that.”

Ging rose to the challenge immediately, pulling Kite into a rough kiss, the affectionate nature of their last encounter completely forgotten. Kite didn’t mind at all – especially when Ging sucked on his lower lip. Kite made a quiet noise of appreciation, and Ging’s tongue tasted the corner of his mouth before pressing in further, brushing up against his teeth and his own tongue. Kite had to keep himself from grinding down on Ging’s lap and hurting the piercings.

They parted, lips wet and puffy, and Ging wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I think you should take the lead on this one.”

Kite paused halfway through pulling his shirt off. “Take the lead…?”

“You know. Top.” Ging’s eyes followed his movements, sweeping over Kite’s toned stomach and fixating on his fox tattoo.

“You want me to top?”

“I – yeah, I kinda do.”

“Have you ever bottomed before?”

“A few times. I know the drill.”

“If I top, we have to bandage your arm up again, and make sure you don’t hurt yourself or your piercings. Probably in the shower.”

“Like I said, you’re the boss.” Ging’s voice was dripping with something palpably viscous, and it seeped into Kite’s skin with a prickling heat that he wasn’t expecting. It was just a colloquial job title, but it still felt good to hear it said like that.

They made short work of their clothing on the way to the shower, with Kite grabbing some lube and a condom from his bedside table. The water heated up too slowly for his tastes as they kissed. He’d decided Ging was safe to leave his tattoo un-bandaged, since the shower would help wash off some of the fluids anyway.

Ging stepped in first, to clean off his tattoo as best he could. Kite bit his lip to keep from laughing. The faces Ging was making – pain, annoyance, aggravation, impatience – were pretty routine, for someone cleaning their tattoo for the first time. It was always a hassle and it stung too much.

When Kite stepped in beside him, Ging was eye-level with his jugular, and their height difference became much more pronounced now that they were planning on having sex like this. Kite found it endearing, and he kissed the top of Ging’s head, reigniting some of the more romantic aspects of their escapades.

Ging’s hand wrapped around his already-hard cock, stroking him, and the shower water beating down on them made it all the more satisfying. Kite trapped Ging against the wall with his arms, eyes hooded and pupils blown wide. He let one hand trail down Ging’s chest and brush against his dick – it too was hard, but Kite had to settle for running his fingertips across the head, so nothing would irritate the piercings. Ging’s face twisted up into a picture of disgruntlement. He obviously wanted more than what Kite could give him, in that area.

“You wanted them.” Kite whispered into his ear, planting wet kisses on his neck and shoulder. He was bending down as far as he could to match Ging’s height, and he hoped his legs would have enough strength to keep that up for the entirety of their session, because he didn’t fancy lying down in the bathtub to try and finish up.  “Turn around.”

Ging’s eyes, uncharacteristically wide, darkened a little. He acquiesced, resting his palms against the shower wall and spreading his legs apart. Kite watched the water drip down his muscular back and over his rounded ass. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d topped anyone, but his thoughts were frazzled anyway, giving way to lascivious desire, and he licked his lips with anticipation. Kite popped open the bottle of lubricant and slicked up his fingers, making sure he took his time with this, since Ging wasn’t so used to it.

It was Kite, not Ging, who hissed when he pressed the first finger in. Ging was hot and maddeningly tight. Kite worked him open bit by bit, and when he added a second finger, he felt the ring of muscles at Ging’s entrance tighten in protest. It took a few minutes of gentle scissoring for things to loosen up. Kite bit at the back of Ging’s neck and crooked his fingers at the same time. He got the reaction he wanted – Ging’s back arched a little, and he heard a slurred, “Fuck,” through the white noise of the shower.

“Only a little more. I don’t want to hurt you.” Kite mumbled, adding more lube and a third finger.

“Just fuck me, already,” Ging growled. His cheeks were glowing with heated blush, illuminating some freckles that were otherwise invisible. Kite smiled. Of course Ging was a power bottom. It only made sense.

He took a few more seconds, just to make sure, only stopping when Ging made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Kite retracted his fingers and tore the condom wrapper open, adding another generous amount of lube onto Ging’s entrance and onto his own dick.

“Okay, let me know if anything hurts.” Kite nudged the head of his cock against Ging’s ass, guiding it in at a snail’s pace. His brows were furrowed with the intense concentration it took to not go all-in in one fell swoop; but _fuck_ , it was just the right amount of slippery and just the right amount of hot. He steadied himself by holding Ging’s hips, all tan and muscle from – from something. Kite wasn’t sure if he worked out or was an athlete or what, but his body was so, _so_ sculpted and it drove Kite wild.

Finally, he was fully sheathed, and Ging’s muffled groan as he rested his head against the shower wall made Kite’s blood boil with pleasure. He waited a few seconds to let Ging’s muscles relax a little, as an extra precaution. Ging wasn’t having it, though, because he thrust back against Kite insistently.

“Come on, _boss_ , fuck me senseless.”

That was fine with Kite. He tightened his grip on Ging’s hips and slammed back in. Ging grunted, looking over his shoulder at Kite and fixing him with a fierce glare.

“Too much?”

“Not enough.”

The man must be damn near unbreakable. Well, if it’s what he wanted, Kite couldn’t deny him. He thrust in again, harder this time, with enough force to push Ging’s chest forward against the wall. The rhythm he settled on was punishing, hard and fast, and he saw Ging’s hands grappling at the tiles.

“A – ah – that’s – more –”

Kite narrowed his eyes and snaked his arm around Ging’s shoulder, covering his mouth with a hand still slippery with lube. “That’s enough out of you.”

It was something Ging had mentioned off-handedly a few weeks ago, and Kite had found it interesting at the time, but not particularly useful. Now, it was proving to be a huge asset to this power-struggle between them, and the low moan let out reassured him that this was definitely something he liked. Kite found himself liking it, too, as he watched Ging’s muscles flex and ripple, his entire body unable to stay still.

Kite’s hair was a royal mess, by this point, plastered to his chest and back and dripping wet. Ging wasn’t faring much better; his short black locks were matted down against his head and neck, and every so often he would shake his bangs out of his face. Kite let his free hand reach around his front, to smear precum across the head of Ging’s penis with his thumb.

They were both breathing heavily and when Kite angled his hips just a little to the left, Ging made a sinful noise against Kite’s hand. Kite was nice, but not nice enough to ignore that, so he pressed into that spot again, grinding their hips together to rub against Ging’s prostate. He didn’t let up, not even as his leg muscles cried out in protest, maintaining a constant pressure. Ging keened and bucked against him, muttering curses under his breath.

Ging’s arms were started to shake, and Kite could tell he was coming unraveled. He leaned forward, nipping at Ging’s ear, to give him an ultimatum. “I’ll let you speak if you cum for me.” Ging gave him a single nod of affirmation, and Kite removed his hand from Ging’s mouth, relishing the deep breath he sucked in before Kite’s name slipped past his lips, lewd and smooth and saturated with ecstasy.

He felt Ging’s muscles tighten before he saw the cum splatter against the shower wall. Kite gritted his teeth, his own cock throbbing and ready, and the heat sparking in his stomach started to move lower - Ging repeating his name over and over sent shudders through his body, and his legs ached from standing like this for so long, but when Ging turned his head to the side, face against the wall, lips parted and eyes closed, Kite found himself overwhelmed. An irresistible heat pulsed through him, accentuated with his now-sloppy thrusts, and when he paused to collect himself, he realized he’d been holding Ging hard enough to leave bruises.

They stood like that for a moment, leaning against each other, Kite noticed the water was starting to cool down. His skin was still hot and flushed from orgasm, so it felt nice, but he noticed Ging was starting to shiver.

“Let’s get you into some warm clothes. It's about time for your first sea salt soak, too.” Kite said, shutting the shower off and stepping out of the tub.

“Shouldn’t we wash the – uh – wall?” Ging gestured to the cum dripping down into the tub. Kite shook his head and handed Ging a towel.

“It can wait.”

As he was wringing the water from his hair, Ging whipped his ass with his towel, a pleased smirk on his lips.

“Good game, boss.”

/// \\\\\ /// \\\\\ ///

A cool breeze floated across Kite’s skin. He sipped on a glass of lemonade, looking out at the beautiful view behind Ging’s house. They’d started leaving food out for the local deer and now there was constant traffic on the property, with fawns and does coming by in pairs to investigate. Sometimes a stag would stop by to stare Ging down, in a faux-competition for ownership of the land.

Kite wondered if the animals thought he was boar-like.

“Do you want to go fishing with Gon and Killua later?” Kite asked, taking another drink of his lemonade and stirring it absently.

Ging made a muffled noise of agreement from behind him. He felt a gentle tug as Ging pulled the braid tight. A few flower petals surrounded them, as a result of Ging’s endeavors – he’d insisted on adding in a wreath of flowers around Kite’s head, like a crown, when he started braiding, and then decided to include more throughout the length of the braid. Kite also had a larkspur tucked behind his ear like a pen. Its purple hues occupied his peripheral vision, turning everything to the left of him a muted blue. The hyacinths were harder to work with, but Ging had found a way to thin out the stems and use tiny bouquets of three or four flowers.

Kite frowned when he accidentally bumped his newest tattoo against Ging’s leg. It was a black and white piece of a stag and a small bird, with larkspurs framing the portrait.

“Done. How’s it look?” Ging laid down Kite’s hair, thick and shiny after being newly washed. His braiding skills really had improved. Kite couldn’t find a single flaw anywhere.

“Like it was professionally done. Thank you.”

Ging kissed his ear, wrapping his arms around Kite’s chest and hugging him from behind. “My pleasure.”

Kite leaned back, watching a small family of deer cross the vast expanse of Ging’s backyard. There were two stags and two fawns, this time – something of a rarity. Kite’s lips quirked up in a smile, and he picked up his phone to plan their next family fishing trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PA / dolphin / triple ladder / lorum:** these are all male genital piercings. For Ging's in particular, you get the best idea if you google "frenum piercing", and just imagine three in a row. But obviously google at your own risk lmao
> 
> [ This ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/16/f6/36/16f6367926a388bb30444882e54fa9c4.jpg)is what I imagined for Kite's new tattoo.  
>     
> This concludes Larkspurs and Hyacinths! Thank you so much to everyone who read/gave kudos/commented, I really appreciate it! As always, you can check my [HxH tumblr](http://zoldyckstripshow.tumblr.com/) or my [main tumblr](http://seraphicsunshine.tumblr.com/) to talk to me or see what other writing projects I'm working on. I hope to continue writing GingKite stuff and HxH content in general for a while, so I'll see you all in my next endeavor! ❤


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